Moments later the witchlings turned her way. Their expressions were as sour as their laughter had been. As they passed another building, one of them peered into the window and tried the door handle before moving on.
Clang!
Carole jumped at the sound.
Clang!
It was coming from the barn.
Through the open doors she could see a witch standing next to a small forge, examining a piece of red-hot metal. The smithy witch shoved the metal into the glowing coals of her forge and gave the bellows a pump. She ladled herself a drink from a nearby water bucket, while staring directly at Carole.
"Hah, I sees ye now!" the smithy witch bellowed. "Stealthy as a cat, ye be, young multitasker. Feeling better, then?" The tiny woman beckoned Carole over, revealing biceps a weightlifter would be proud to own.
"Yes, thanks." Carole walked into the barn.
The smithy witch pulled white stuffing out of her ears. "And young Mariat, be she faring equally well?"
"Not quite," Carole said. "She'll be bedridden for a few more days."
"I heard tell the thunderish boom be quite something. Didn't catch the sound of it myself, though." She tapped the anvil lightly with her hammer. "I tend to make plenty of my own thunder."
"What's it going to be?" Carole pointed to the iron glowing in the forge. "It doesn't look big enough for a horseshoe."
"No. I make 'em on occasion, but my main trade be settings for charms and the like." She sat on a nearby barrel and absently rolled-up her sleeves. "Bin thinking how trouble always likes to shadow young Mariat."
"Because she's so headstrong?"
"Perhaps some." The smithy witch frowned. "But Mariat not be great friends with every witch at Westhill, neither. It be certain that lot who jest scurried by, have no loveish feelings towards her. Wouldn't think a hex or two tossed her way be beyond that bunch."
"But you're all on the same side."
"Times were I thought that, Carole Sylphwood, 'til those Conundrum years showed me different. Possibly too, ye heard how young Mariat spelled those witchlings a while back?"
"In self-defense. She thought they were vampires."
"Mariat's defense not be the question. The question to be asked is arount the trick itself."
"I don't follow. Weren't they just trying to scare her?"
The witch took a charred corncob pipe from her apron pocket and stuck it into the corner of her mouth. "Tis what the others think. Tis what I thought also, 'til I remembered something. I remember hearing bits of whisperish talk, back when our coven still be hopping around the countryside looking fer safer places to live, before we settled up north. Those whispers be 'bout learning vampirish spells."
"The five witchlings," Carole said.
"Seems likely, though I not be entirely certain."
"But we already know they did it."
"That part not be in doubt, multitasker, the part to be doubted is why. Why did they choose a vampire spell at all? I work by myself in these ole barns and when I not be banging away on my anvil, others oft forget that I be here. But I hear plenty fine and I tell you fer certain that those five have a rotten streak in 'em which runs as deep as that lake over yonder. And I know ye see it too. That be why ye hid like a tree, jest now."
"They did kind of spook me."
"That be why I talk to ye now. Ye and Mariat be good friends, but it still be best to keep this lore to yerself. Tell none others."
Carole nodded, a little alarmed at the blacksmith's tone.
"There be a thing about spelling oneself to take on vampirish looks. Sometimes ye also take on vampirish sounds, too."
"Makes sense, I guess."
"Well if four or five witches be spelled to look and sound that way at the same time, then it be near certain that they'll attract any real vampires that be lurking about."
"Real vampires?"
The smithy witch tapped the side of her nose. "Vampires be solitary, cowardly beasts, excepting in certain instances. And one of those instances be when they find plenty of blood food about, like if they stumble upon a herd of cattle or such. When that happens they make lots of noise to let other vampires know.
"I not be certain if they want others to come arount, or if they jest not be caring if others turn up. That doesn't really matter. What matters be that those witchlings wanted real vampires to turn up."
"No!"
"I be certain of it. They say not. They say to Herling that they not be knowing such a thing could happen, and Herling did believe 'em. But I have two questions rattling arount this skull of mine. Why need those witchlings to take young Mariat's broom? If they wanted jest to scare her, why care if she flys away after the prank be played? And why did they choose a vampire trick instead of something easier?"
"Spelling oneself into a vampire is hard to do?"
"That it be," the smithy witch agreed. "And remember also, that I overheard whisperings?"
Carole nodded.
"I didn't see who they be, but the whisperers knew fer certain that a group spell would attract real vampires."
Carole gasped. "Shouldn't you tell Head witch Herling?"
"She knows 'bout all except the whispering, and even I not be totally certain who those voices did belong to."
"But what if they try again?"
With a chuckle, the smithy witch said, "Those five not likely to attack Mariat again, but they not likely to forget the embarrassment neither."
"You think they're hexing her."
"Mariat be one strong witchling, and a hex be nothing more than a minor nuisance. Still, they do add up. Over time enough of 'em could weaken the youngster, and make her vulnerable to accidents and such. So I be thinking that a warding-off charm might not be such a bad thing."
"Sounds like a good idea to me."
"Except it be a fat chance Mariat agree to wear a charm. She be hard-headed and won't think she needs such paltry protection."
"She'd be embarrassed to wear it?"
"Mostly it be the village folk who buy such things."
"What do they look like?"
The smithy witch reached into her smock and pulled out a woven black chain from which hung a sparkling green gemstone that looked like a cat's eye.
"It's beautiful!"
"Bounces mischief right back to the prankster that tries to create trouble. Mightn't help much, though it certainly couldn't hurt."
"But you think Mariat would be too proud to wear it?"
"Aye."
"Why not give it to her as a get well present?" Carole said after a moment's thought.
"A get well present?"
"It's a gift to cheer someone up and to say, 'I hope you feel better.'"
The smithy witch beamed. "That way Mariat won't think I be calling her a weakling, and she won't want to hurt my feelings by saying no. Very clever, multitasker. I give it a try, straight away." She untied her leather apron and tossed it over the anvil. "Ye wish to come?"
"Thanks, but I've still got to find Professor--"
At the sound of approaching footsteps, she turned to see a man and a witch walking towards the barn. The man was tall and thin, with skin so pale that it reminded her of a grub worm's. He had thick white eyebrows overhanging fierce-looking eyes, and a great bush of hair so white that it practically glowed. The witch was short and stout with skin so creviced and wrinkled, it looked like dried, cracked clay.
"Professor Philamount! I've been looking for you."
"Miss Sylphwood." The specterish man nodded a silent greeting to the smithy witch, who returned a quick salute before marching off. "Recovered from being blown up?"
"Pretty much."
"Hmm." He studied her face for a few moments, "You are quite certain?"
"Yes."
"Good."
"So what are we doing, then?" she said, when it became obvious that he wasn't going to say more.
"We?" He cocked his head to one side. "Herling and I are discussing matters which are of no concern to you,
Miss Sylphwood. That is what she and I are doing."
"Mind if I tag along?"
He and the head witch exchanged quick looks.
Herling said gruffly, "I best be checking on Mariat. I send fer ye tonight, Philamount. Close to sunset." She stalked off after the blacksmith.
"If you truly are well enough, Miss Sylphwood," Professor Philamount said, as he watched Herling's departure, "perhaps now is an opportune time to work on your accuracy."
"Accuracy?"
"The accuracy of your transdimensional leaps."
"I didn't think you wanted me doing those."
"My wish is not to limit your training. My wish is to keep others from prying."
"Why? What's it matter if anyone else knows?"
"I have my reasons for discretion."
"Which you refuse to tell me." Carole crossed her arms and eyed Philamount with some irritation.
"I could entertain you with speculation and fanciful musings Miss Sylphwood, but that wouldn't add to your knowledge or to your peace of mind."
"So you are worried about something."
"I should think that having been responsible for the only porcine stampede in the entire history of the Hub would be incentive enough for you to wish to keep a low profile."
"It wasn't a stampede. We crashed into the graduation ceremony is all. As you'll recall, it provided the perfect cover for Martin to get away unnoticed. Besides, it's not like I didn't end the Great Conundrum in the process."
"Yes, you did. That is not in dispute. However..." The professor looked as though he was swallowing a nasty pill.
"Cough it up."
"Oh very well. I shall toss you one tidbit and then let us leave it at that."
"If it's a worthwhile tidbit."
The corners of his mouth turned down in the faintest of frowns. "You do realize that most students would consider it quite an honor to accompany me on a private field trip, let alone to be personally tutored by me."
"I imagine those would be the same students you haven't chucked out a window, yet."
A stormy expression flitted across the man's features, and then unexpectedly and quite uncharacteristically, he guffawed. "Miss Sylphwood, you do take the cake. Perhaps you can be of some help in all of this, after all. All right, here is your tidbit. Despite the completion of the dimensional repairs and the termination of the universal wobble, I believe that certain of the effects of the Great Conundrum are ongoing."
"What do you mean? If all the dimensions are reattached to the Hub, the Conundrum has to be over. Everything's back to normal."
"That is everyone thinks. Indeed for months we have been receiving reports from journeying multitaskers saying exactly that."
"So what's the problem?"
"It is not a question of what; it is a question of where? Where is the problem?"
"Okay, so where's the problem?"
"At the Hub itself."
"The Hub?"
"Yes, which is why it took me so long to see it. I have been looking outwards instead of inwards. And this is why I wish for you to keep a low profile. Your celebrity has to a certain extent abated, and life at the Hub has calmed down. Now is the perfect time to look."
"For...?"
"That which should not be there."
Carole rolled her eyes. The one thing that continued to irritate her was his habit of answering questions without actually saying anything.
"So you see, the last thing we need is for you to stir things up with the disclosure of your Free-Falling abilities. Improve those skills. Discover the extent of your potential. But keep these discoveries between you and me."
"You still haven't told me what you're looking for."
"Did I not just say that residual effects of the Great Conundrum were still being felt at the Hub?"
"You didn't say what those effects were."
"Have I never mentioned The Monobrain Effect to you, Miss Sylphwood? How during the Great Conundrum, multitaskers started to display primitive behaviors and emotions so typical of the monobrain world. That aside from the physical damage done to the Hub, it was that Effect which proved most troublesome."
"Okay, I get it. You're looking for people behaving like monobrainers. Like yourself I might add, with all your cloak and dagger stuff."
"Interesting." Professor Philamount took out a notepad and scribbled down a few lines.
"I still don't see why my Free-Falling has to be such a big secret?"
"How would the Murtz family have reacted to your ability to Soft-Walk?"
The word freak sprang to Carole's mind.
"If members of the Hub are still under the influence of the Monobrain Effect, there is no telling what their response might be?"
"Fine. I'll keep my mouth shut. And that's it?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Nothing else is worrying you?" Carole said offhandedly.
"You have received your tidbit. It is time for practice."
"Oh, all right. What do you want me to do?"
"I wish for you to attempt a local jump."
"Local?"
"Since you are not restricted to traveling within a transdimensional tunnel, it follows that you are not necessarily limited to traveling between dimensions. In fact, I see no reason why any distance great or small, should be a problem."
Carole had to grin. "I hadn't thought of that."
"Perhaps the reason why I am the teacher."
"It's not as if I've had nothing else to think about. Only nine years' worth of homework dumped on me, while juggling classes from six different grades."
"Nearly a decade to loaf around, and you complain about a little extra school work."
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to keep me too busy to do anything else."
"Miss Sylphwood, on one hand you've amassed more transdimensional experience than my entire graduate class put together, but on the other hand you can barely keep up with a preschool plasticity class. I've simply designed your curriculum to fill in the holes as quickly as possible."
"Okay, okay." Carole held up her hands, conceding defeat. "Where do you want me to jump?"
"Try the brew shack down at the end of this lane."
Carole spied the building a few hundred yards away. "This is a little different isn't it? Jumping to a thing. I didn't think that was possible?"
"For the average multitasker you are correct. But neither you nor your methods are average, Miss Sylphwood. Off you go."
"Give me a second." Carole decided that the professor had a knack for making a complement sound like an insult. She closed her eyes, imagined a line between her heart and the shack, and jumped.
The ground lurched beneath her feet. When she opened her eyes, she found herself standing in the middle of a field of stubble. She'd overshot the brew shack by a good hundred yards.
Professor Philamount beckoned with a spider-like arm.
She focused on him, closed her eyes and leapt a second time.
Wham!
"Ow!" Carole stumbled backwards, rubbing her forehead.
Professor Philamount was lying on the grass, gingerly exploring his chest with long, bony fingers. "Better." He rose and dusted himself off. "Might I suggest leaping with your eyes open?"
"That's a lot more distracting."
"Perhaps not as distracting as head-butting your intended target."
Carole fingered the goose egg growing above her left eye. "You've got a point."
"Once more. To the shack."
This time Carole kept both eyes open. A moment later she was standing directly outside the door. "Yes!" She pumped her arm triumphantly. Twisting around, she got a bead on Philamount. In a flash was standing beside him.
"Much Better. Visual input greatly increases accuracy. Now try for something out of sight, but still within the confines of the coven. And again, keep your eyes open."
Carole opted for the mill, and a heartbeat later was next to the grindstone. A second after that she was back wi
th Professor Philamount, and grinning from ear-to-ear.
"Problems with location?"
"Nope."
"Excellent. Now to a place still within this realm but much farther away."
The northern hall was the obvious destination. Carole leapt and there it was, with its tiny windows and weirdly angled walls. She couldn't believe she'd actually thought of this misshapen structure as warm and inviting. Of course at the time she'd been running from werewolves.
A bitter wind raked over the frost bitten ground, whipping her dress between her legs. Carole shivered. She returned to the professor.
"About time. Problems?"
"Nope."
"Location?"
"The northern hall." She rubbed her arms trying to warm up.
"Accuracy?"
"Bang on."
"Did you happen to notice whether you were traveling within a tunnel?"
She considered. "More like a giant soap bubble."
"And how are you feeling?"
She was shivering from head-to-toe, and feeling weak in the knees. "It was cold up there, but not that co-cold."
"Was there a haze or mist within the bubble?"
"Mayb-be a lit-tle." Her teeth wouldn't stop chattering.
"Cold or warm?"
"An icy mi-mist, n-now that you me-mention it."
"Residual effects, I should think. Enough for now, Miss Sylphwood. Wrap yourself in a warm blanket and eat something to recover your strength. In the future, make a habit of keeping a bit of food on hand. It'll forestall the more drastic side effects, I should think."
"Si-si-side effects?"
"Dimensional travel requires energy to support the transport tunnel, or in your case, bubble. Normally that energy is derived from the Hub's power station, but it appears you somehow supply your bubble's energy, which means that fatigue must be factored in. Longer distances will likely consume more energy and therefore require greater fortitude. You'd do well to familiarize yourself with the signs of travel fatigue. They appear to be similar to hypothermia."
"How ca-ca-come I d-da-don't need a ta-ta-tunnel?" Her teeth were still chattering violently.
"You do."
"Bu-bu-but..."
"Think of your bubble as a tunnel which is closed off at both ends. Because it is not stretched between the Hub and another world, you are free to direct it where you wish, providing of course you have the energy to reach your destination."
The Missing Link Page 4