Map of the Passages: 3 (Enchanted Emporium)

by Pierdomenico Baccalario

  The walls inside the tent were decorated with leopard skins, a large mirror, and an ultra-slim flat screen TV. On the opposite side, there was a huge feather mattress resting on the ground. The air was saturated with an exotic perfume — and a soft melody.

  I took a few steps toward the table and noticed it was overflowing with compasses, bottles of different colors of ink, protractors, and rulers of various lengths.

  Most interestingly, there were several maps of the Applecross peninsula, village, and bay. There were maps of the paths, nautical charts of the sea around the islands, topographical maps, title searches, and building interiors. I recognized the stamp from Mr. Everett’s Curious Traveler on some of them. Others, however, were so old that they looked as if they’d come from a museum. Still others were so battered and stained that they would have looked right at home in a treasure chest at the bottom of the sea.

  Some maps were hanging from rows of colored pins along the edges of the table. One in particular struck me: it was a complete map of England, but instead of listing the names of all the places, it displayed only a few that were identified with large, elaborate circles. To the side, there was some text written in the Enchanted Language.

  I struggled to read the magical letters as they moved and shifted before my eyes. Eventually, I was able to make out the phrase: Map of the Passages.

  Passages? I thought. What kind of passages?

  I scanned the map and identified Scotland, then Applecross Bay. One of those strange circles was marking a remote islet. “Fladda-chùain,” I read aloud in a whisper.

  A slight chill ran down my spine as I realized I wasn’t alone.

  I turned around quickly and saw a shape in the shadows. “Aiby, is that you?” I murmured. “Doug? Mr. Everett?”

  What had initially looked like the profile of a person turned out to be two stacks of books with grotesque African masks resting atop them. I was alone after all.

  I let out a sigh and ventured a couple of steps closer to the table, wondering if I should take the map. My eyes were drawn to three items abandoned nearby in the center of a rug. As I stepped closer, I identified a violin, a colored scarf, and a wand.

  I recognized the scarf right away, which sent another shiver down my spine.

  I kneeled down next to Patches. “Do you recognize it, boy?” I asked. “It’s the scarf Cumai always wore!”

  Patches moved closer to sniff it, but jerked to a halt when an icy voice murmured, “Well said, young McPhee. All three of those items were hers. An authentic Sidhe Violin, a Good Times Scarf, and a Berry Questing Wand.”

  Semueld Askell appeared out of thin ar near the four-post bed. He was a tall man with a long, thin nose that gave him a sly appearance. His shiny hair was neatly combed back, and he was dressed in black from head to toe. His hands were unfastening the Cloak of Mirrors that had undoubtedly kept him hidden until that point.

  “But they’re worthless items,” he continued. “Little more than odds and ends, really. I’d hoped they’d be able to help me in some way, but no.”

  Askell untied the cloak completely and threw it onto the bed in irritation. He slowly massaged his temples and said with a grimace, “I’ve been waiting for you, McPhee. I was beginning to wonder how long it would take you to find me. Last night, your brother interrupted me before I could finish writing my invitation. I’m glad you found my home despite that fact.”

  I clenched my teeth and nudged Patches closer to me with my toe. “Where are my friends?” I snarled.

  Askell stepped closer. “Ah, yes,” he said. “Those were your friends? All of them?”

  I didn’t respond. Everything Semueld asked seemed like it had a deeper, sinister meaning.

  Askell glanced at the three magical objects that had belonged to Cumai, then sighed theatrically. “I must say that young Lily’s naiveté really surprised me. Perhaps her father never taught her the first rule of magical objects?”

  “And what would that be?” I said petulantly.

  Semueld took a step closer and tilted his head at me. “If they’re not yours, then don’t touch them,” he said. He pulled a pair of green gloves out of his pocket and slowly put them on.

  “What did you do to them?” I said through clenched teeth.

  “I did nothing to them. They did it to themselves.” He leaned over to pick up the violin. “Cumai’s magical objects had their own antitheft system, shall we say. And your friends tried to take them without permission.” I frowned, puzzled. Was it possible that Aiby’s magical glasses didn’t reveal those perils?

  Semueld Askell spun the violin between his fingers. “Do you know how to play, McPhee? I don’t, and that’s perhaps the one regret I have. Every so often I tell myself I should learn, but in fact I never do. I would love to play the piano. To practice arpeggios, scales . . . anything, really.”

  He set the violin on the table and stared at a random spot on the ceiling of the tent. Softly, slowly, he began to sing, “Don’t ask me again: what answer can I give you? I don’t like haggard cheeks and dimming eyes. Yet, my friend, I don’t want you to die. Don’t ask me again. Your destiny and mine are sealed.” Then he looked at me and asked, “Do you know that song?”

  “No,” I admitted. Still, it felt like I’d heard the melody before. Maybe at school? Or in a movie?

  “It doesn’t matter,” Semueld said. “Forget about it. We aren’t here to talk about music, right?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said softly. Patches growled.

  “Well then, let’s talk about what we should be talking about,” Semueld said.

  “Tell me what happened to Aiby and my brother,” I demanded.

  Askell chuckled.

  I frowned. “Look, we know that you —”

  Askell cut me off by raising both hands as if to protect his face. “We’re starting poorly, McPhee, very poorly. Accusing me of crimes in my own home is outside the bounds of hospitality. Let’s instead discuss this like magicians. Or, if you prefer, like gentlemen. After all, until the last century, the terms were synonymous with each other.”

  “Gentlemen don’t kill,” I said.

  Askell laughed heartily. “A youthful perspective, McPhee, and let’s hope you can keep thinking that for a long time! I’m sorry to contradict you, but not only do gentlemen kill, they often happen to do so without reason. Just for fun.”

  “What about you? Why do you do it?” I asked.

  He sneered. “I think you know.”

  “Maybe,” I said, baiting him. “But I’d rather you tell me yourself.”

  “As you wish,” Semueld said. “I’m searching for something that an ancestor of your friend Aiby stole many years ago. An item that none of the Lilys wants to give to me.”

  “What did they steal from you?” I asked.

  “Oh, they didn’t steal it from me. They stole it from everyone.”

  “Everyone?” I asked.

  “From everyone,” Semueld Askell repeated. “And I believe the time has come for them to return it.”

  “How can someone steal something that belongs to everyone?” I asked.

  Semueld Askell chewed one of his fingernails. “Too many questions, young McPhee. You ask too many questions.”

  “Aiby says that Reginald Lily didn’t steal anything,” I said.

  “Oh, really? What a coincidence! You even know the name of the thief! I never said Reginald Lily stole what I’m looking for at all! The man with the red wooden ship that was wrecked near here also happens to be hated by the giants . . . don’t you find that to be a very strange coincidence?”

  “Aiby says that —” I began.

  “Cut it out, McPhee!” Askell interrupted. “‘She says this, she says that!’ Is Aiby here right now? Do you hear someone talking other than me? I don’t — besides the annoying chirp of a weak little boy who I’ve heard is su
pposed to be none other than the Enchanted Emporium’s defender.”

  I flared up with rage and shivered with fear. The skin on my neck prickled and I slipped my hands into my pocket. As soon as my fingers touched the scorpion key, Askell began speaking again. “I’m going to give you just one piece of advice, McPhee. Don’t try to use any magical object that you brought with you, because it won’t work inside my tent. And before you ask, I’ll tell you why: we’re in the yurt of Temujin, the lord of the Golden Horde. Did you ever study his exploits with the Mongolian army?”

  I shook my head. It made no difference to me whether Temujin was a real historical figure or the main character in a fantasy novel.

  “I believe Mr. Lily can explain to you in detail how this tent works,” Askell continued. “And perhaps you can read in the BBMO that a very powerful Silence of the Voices is in effect in here, which cancels out any unwelcome magic. But I don’t think you’re all that interested in the art of magic, right?”

  I said nothing because he was right. And in any case, I understood the essence of the information perfectly: no magical objects worked here. That, at least, explained why Aiby’s glasses had not helped her.

  “Do you like it?” Askell asked me, waving his arms around with an expansive gesture.

  “It stinks like a goat,” I said.

  He laughed. “Very true! An authentic goat stink from Mongolia! But this tent is a portable gem, which my family got ahold of under very singular circumstances,” Askell explained.

  In that moment, Askell reminded me of a vulture circling above a carcass, waiting for the right moment to descend.

  “What do you want from me?” I asked, trying to appear calmer than I actually was. Patches yelped when I accidentally stepped on his tail.

  “You really have no idea?” Askell asked.

  “No.”

  “I think you do. And I’d like you to figure it out yourself,” Askell replied. “You know that I’m looking for something, and that I’ve looked through all the houses, ruined castles, and wrecks on the peninsula.” He picked up a couple of maps and let them drop back onto the table. “Every house, with the exception of one. A very special house that I cannot enter.”

  “So why can’t you enter the Enchanted Emporium?” I asked.

  “Because I’m one of the seven shopkeepers, my young friend. And we aren’t allowed to enter while another family is running the shop.”

  “That’s not my problem,” I said.

  Askell smiled. “Too true. It’s entirely mine. And it’s also the reason why I’ve been waiting for you with such trepidation. Look, the only way I can enter the Enchanted Emporium and take back what I’ve been looking for is if you give me your key.”

  I clutched the scorpion key in my hand, thinking back to the previous evening when the ravens had ransacked my box of precious possessions without finding the key hidden in the false bottom.

  “You could have just taken it last night,” I reminded him.

  Askell snickered. “Oh, that would’ve been too easy. I mean, yes, I could have taken it from that ridiculous false bottom of your box of trifling things, but it wouldn’t have been the same. The shopkeepers have been carefully protected from the risk of accidentally losing one of the keys. When the families established the rules of succession for the Emporiums, they did things right: they found four special keys, which the shopkeepers called Archetypes. Otherwise known as objects created before the First Magical Revolution. These keys are four of the most powerful magical objects around.”

  Askell took a few steps closer to me. “Look, McPhee, the truth is that I can’t just take your key. You have to give it to me — of your own free will. I know it may seem absurd to you, but that’s how it works.” Askell coughed nervously. “In other words, I need . . . well, I need your permission.”

  “And why should I give it to you?” I said.

  “Because I know what you’d like in exchange.”

  “Oh? So you know me know?” I challenged.

  “With certainty.”

  Semueld Askell came even closer. My goosebumps got goose bumps. Patches bared his teeth. A deafening silence spread over the tent.

  “You want the heart of that girl,” Semueld Askell whispered. Slowly, he bent his neck and leaned over me like a bird of prey. “You want to capture the heart of Aiby Lily.”

  Time stopped in Temujin’s yurt. Or at least it seemed to stop. After inspecting me with his frosty eyes, Askell withdrew a few steps.

  “I’d say I guessed correctly, McPhee,” he said.

  I couldn’t speak. He was right again, after all. Ever since I’d first laid eyes on Aiby Lily in the village, nothing interested me more. When I had faced giants, solved riddles in bottles, chased dangerous thieves who had stolen magic books, bet my soul in a game of cards, and risked my life plunging from the tower into the bay, I had always been thinking of her. There were plenty of reasons to do the things I’d done, but Aiby had always been my reason.

  “Cat got your tongue, McPhee?” Semueld Askell said, turning his back to me.

  If only I could’ve taken advantage of that moment to flee with Patches, or if I’d had one of Askell’s darts from his blowgun. Perhaps then things would have gone differently. Then again, maybe I never would’ve even reached the end of that summer.

  I remained silent, so he continued. “If you’d prefer, you can just nod. You want to capture the heart of that girl, right?”

  I nodded.

  “And you want it now.”

  I nodded my head a second time.

  Askell extended a hand protected by a green glove and grabbed a small box from the table. “Then here, take it!” he exclaimed. “Now her heart is yours!”

  With one fluid motion, he threw the box to me. Patches barked and I, stupidly, did the one thing I shouldn’t have done: I caught it.

  “Ouch!” I cried out. “It bit me!”

  That couldn’t have been possible, but that’s what it felt like. The small box was decorated with shells and colored inlays in a tribal pattern. On the lid, the lock was shaped like the head of an ebony monkey, its keyhole designed to accept something shaped like a shark’s tooth.

  It was slightly open. And it was empty.

  I was tempted to drop it to the ground because of its frightening appearance, but I forced myself to keep it balanced on the palm of my hand. It was a little bigger than Aiby’s glasses, and it smelled like something between nutmeg and sulfur.

  “All you have to do is place four things from your beloved into the Heart-eating Box,” Askell said. “Something from the body, something from the dead, something that’s liquid, and something worn.”

  I looked at it, appalled by its name. Askell began counting out loud on his fingers. “Something from the body can be a lock of hair or a fingernail. Something from the dead must have belonged to one of her ancestors, preferably one of her parents. For something that’s liquid, a tear or some of her saliva. And I don’t think I need to explain the last one. Find these four things, put them in the box, close the lock, and Aiby Lily’s heart will be yours forever.”

  “And if I don’t close it?” I asked.

  “It depends,” Semueld Askell responded. “Is the box open or closed right now?”

  “Open,” I said.

  “That’s a real pity!” Askell declared. “Once it’s open, you only have the length of one day to put the things you need inside it. Give me your key to the Enchanted Emporium and in exchange you’ll get Aiby Lily’s heart. Of course, you can decide not to give me the key, and then . . .”

  “Then what?” I asked.

  Askell shrugged. “The box will eat you,” he said.

  I stared at the grinning monkey on the lock. “But I don’t want this . . . thing,” I said. At that moment, I thought about the words Askell had written on the wall in my room about playing a
game.

  “But you took the box,” Askell said. “And you opened it, as well.”

  “I didn’t open it!” I shouted. “It opened all on its own!”

  I threw the box into the middle of the tent. It landed on the rugs with a soft thump. What happened next still makes my skin crawl: the box crawled back to me, walking on the floor with two rows of fiendish little legs. Patches barked fiercely as it approached, but the Heart-eating Box didn’t stop moving until it touched the tip of my toe.

  Semueld Askell smirked. “Once you’ve let them out, you can’t play with feelings, McPhee,” he said. “Especially when they’re strong ones, like your feelings for that silly girl.”

  I kicked the box away, but it just righted itself and started marching toward me again. “Get it away from me!” I screamed.

  “I’m sorry, young McPhee,” Semueld said. “There’s nothing you nor I can do about it now.”

  Patches barked even louder and scratched the Heart-eating Box with one of his paws. He crouched low and kept biting the box as if it were an insect.

  “The box will follow you everywhere, just like your ridiculous, furry friend,” Semueld said. He clapped his hands. In response, one of the black trunks that were scattered around the tent opened wide and jumped at Patches.

  “No!” I shrieked. I watched helplessly as my dog disappeared into the trunk. It snapped shut with a dull thud. “Patches!”

  I went over to the trunk and gave it a savage kick, but all I got was a yelp from my poor dog.

  “Finally a bit of peace and quiet,” Askell remarked.

  “Let him go right now!” I shouted.

  “Do you know how those work?” Semueld asked. “This is a Strange Sarcophagi based on the model of the original Egyptian ones. The name comes from the Greek words sarx and phagein, which mean meat and eat, respectively.” Semueld smirked. “I prefer the Strange Sarcophagi to traditional coffins for a variety of personal reasons.”