Thordric sighed and sank back in the bath. He only had a few days left of being here, and when he got back the case would be on his shoulders. If he failed, the Inspector would not be pleased. He had to figure out how to move the wooden man convincingly. He wasn't sure what good it would do the case, but he believed Lizzie would only teach him magic that she thought was relevant. He would get it today. He would, if only he could figure out how to do it.
'Boy? Boy, your breakfast is ready,' Lizzie called.
He climbed out of the bath, splashing water everywhere and quickly dried himself with one of the fluffy pink towels she had left him. Flinging on some clothes, he went downstairs and along the corridors into the kitchen.
'Are you quite well, boy?' she asked, handing him a plate of fresh rolls and butter.
'I'm…fine; I just had some bad dreams.' He crammed half a roll into his mouth, washing it down with the tea she had just placed beside him.
'Did they give you any insight?' she asked.
'What do you mean? It was all a jumbled mess. I woke up feeling like my head had been split.'
She chuckled. 'Sometimes when wizards dream, it helps them understand or realize certain things. My husband took a lot from his dreams.'
'Then he was lucky. I didn't get anything apart from a chill.'
Thordric headed outside again once they'd finished eating. There had been even more snow that night, and it was still coming down as he walked out. He blew away the pile of it covering the wooden man, and started thinking of new ways to make it work. He had been close with the puppet idea, she had said. What if it had been the ropes that made it wrong? There were other ways to make puppets move, he knew, like the glove puppets, where it looks as though the puppeteer is putting his hand up the character's backside. He didn't fancy doing that, even with a magical hand.
He kicked at the snow, idly making patterns, and walked towards it to examine it again. He laughed as he saw the face he had painted on it. Where the snow had covered it, the paint- even though it was magical paint- had smudged, turning the expression on it into a grimace. He put out a hand to wipe it away and start again, but as soon as he touched the wood, he felt a curious tugging sensation. He drew his hand back, wondering if it was something else, but the tugging stopped. Lightly touching it again, he felt it tug. It was as though it wanted him to be drawn into it.
He blinked, an idea striking him so hard that it knocked all the other sensible ideas clean out of his head. Was that even possible? He imagined Lizzie standing next to him, preparing to take a crack at his knuckles with her rolling pin for asking silly questions. There was only one way of finding out whether it was possible or not, and that was to try it.
He pushed his hand onto the wood, using his powers with it. He felt his mind sink in to the grain, as softly as through butter, and suddenly he saw things from a different perspective. The wooden man had no real eyes, and apparently there was no way for him to look out from it if they weren't there. Instead, he seemed to be hovering slightly above it, and could see his body still touching the wooden man's head. He tried moving, but his body stayed still. The wooden man, however, did not.
It flapped its arms about, and then moved its legs, all in time with his thoughts. Now he saw what Lizzie had meant. He had been close, but he had been thinking about it from the wrong perspective. He had been trying to use tools to help him move it, when what he had really needed was to move it from inside.
With his grin invisible on the wooden man's face, he made it lift his body up and walk it over to the back door of the house. There, he made it swing the door open and walk inside. It was odd, seeing it all from this angle, but it made him think about everything in a different way.
Directing it to the kitchen, where he knew Lizzie would still be, he swung the door open and marched in. As usual, she didn't turn around right away, but spoke to him anyway. He snuck the wooden man up behind her as quietly as he could, still holding his body.
'Did you have any luck, boy?' she said. 'I couldn't hear you cursing, so I assume you—' She turned around and let out a shriek. He laughed so hard that he made the wooden man judder.
Chapter Twelve: A Sad Past
'Boy, don't you scare me like that again!' Lizzie said, taking refuge in a chair. 'I'm not as young as I used to be.'
Thordric tried to say sorry, but he was still in the wooden man's body and no sound came out. He slowly pulled back his mind and poured it into his own body. The sensation was very strange, going from coarse wood to warm flesh. The wooden man fell with a thud on the floor, and Thordric stood up in his real body again. He felt frozen, and had to do an athletic style warm up to work out all the cricks that had developed in his neck and back.
'You've done very well, boy. It took my Patrick nearly three weeks to figure it out, and even then he almost had a panic attack trying to switch back again.'
Thordric grinned. 'So, what else do I have to learn?' he said, joining her as he sat down in one of the chairs.
'There are many things for you to learn, but for the investigation I believe this is everything you should need to know.'
'But none of it seems relevant. I know you say it is, but I still can't see it.'
'Once you get back to town, it should all start to make sense. Remember, by learning this magic, you not only learn how to do it, but also to recognise when someone else has done it.'
He watched as she absently wiped off a mark on the table. He hesitated, 'Lizzie?'
'What is it, boy?'
'Do you honestly think I can solve this?'
'Yes, boy, I do. You have a keen mind, and you are very good at picking up small details. You'll find whoever did it, and you won't need to ask them how, either.' She got up and went over to the cupboards, getting out pots and pans. She caught the expression on his face and laughed. 'Don't worry, boy, you need a rest from spell work. I'm not about to make you practice anything just yet, I'm only using them to start lunch.'
He exhaled slowly. 'What shall I do then?'
'Well, you have two options. Either you can start on that travel sickness potion, or you can help me in the kitchen. I would prefer you did the former, because I dislike other people hovering around while I cook.'
Thordric left the room quickly, forgetting his books and having to go back for them. Then he remembered that he hadn't put the cauldron in place, and went back again. He had to move the table back against the wall, which meant disturbing Lizzie as she chopped up the vegetables. Finally set, he hurried outside and into the forest.
He walked along the wall of the house again, and remembered the door where he'd first found the Big Man's Nose. He doubled back, deciding to find out how to get there from inside the house. He knew it was probably along a corridor he hadn't been down, and at the risk of disturbing Lizzie again, he went back into the kitchen to see if she had a map he could follow.
'What door is this? The only doors that I know of on the outside of the house are the front and back ones. I've never seen one at the end of the house,' she said, resting the ladle she had been using against her cheek. She had forgotten how hot it was, and took it away again sharply, her mind back on the food.
'Well, it's there. Almost as big as the front door, but it's a reddish colour and has completely rusted shut.'
Lizzie turned to look at him. Her face was red from being so close to the stove and her bun had fallen out of place. 'I can't even think what rooms are down that end of the house, I haven't been there in so long…'
'Do you have some sort of map?' he asked.
'No, I- wait,' she said. Putting the ladle down in the pot she had been stirring, she went out of the room. Thordric wondered if he should keep stirring the stew she'd been making or check on the pie he could smell, but he didn't quite dare. He just stood by the stove, watching to make sure nothing boiled over.
He stood there for at least a quarter of an hour before he heard her shout out to him from the down the corridor. He went out to see where she was and fou
nd she was in the room where he had weaved the cover for the cauldron. She was busy unravelling large sheets of paper on the desk. He coughed as he inhaled some of the thick dust that hung in the air.
'Come here, boy, and unroll the rest of these for me,' she said. He walked up to the desk and picked up the nearest roll of paper. As well as the dust, he caught a strong whiff of mildew. He undid the silk tie around it and stretched it out on the table. On it, in faded ink, was a map of a forest. At first he thought it was Watchem Woods, but then he saw that the name was written on the top. Teroosa Forest.
'I thought you were looking for a map of the house?' he asked, unravelling another one depicting a different forest.
'Not a map, the original blueprints. Patrick built this house himself, so they should be here somewhere.'
'Why are there so many forest maps?' he said, unravelling yet another.
'That's Patrick's doing. When he was writing that plant book of his, he travelled to all the woods and forests in the country. To make it easier for him to remember which plants grew where, he mapped them all out.'
'Oh,' he said, unravelling another. 'Hey, this one is different. I think this could be it, see, that looks like the front door there and yes, there's the kitchen.' He pointed to the rooms with his finger.
That is it! I knew it was here somewhere. Let me have a look at it.' She pushed him out of the way and spread it out flat on the table. She traced her fingers over it, muttering under her breath. 'Is this where you think the door is?' she asked, tapping the end of the house.
'Yes, that's exactly where it is.'
'Hmm. Perhaps it was added after these plans were made. It's certainly not marked.' She handed it to him. 'Here.'
Thordric took it and went off back down the corridor. He noticed a cloud of smoke filtering out of the kitchen door, and hurried off in the other direction before Lizzie could scold him for distracting her.
The map led him along the corridor where the staircase to his bedroom was, but continued straight past it. It was black down there, much too dark for him to see without bumping in to anything. He felt along the wall for the light globes, and shook them. The sudden brightness made his eyes hurt, and he stumbled forward, blinking.
When he recovered, he looked at the map again. In his blindness, he had gone straight past the turning he had needed, and had to go back and retrace his steps. He lit more light globes; this time prepared for the brightness, and carried on following the corridor until its end. The blueprints showed several more turnings to get to the room where the door should be, and he followed with the feeling that he was going the wrong way. There was something about the house that confused his sense of direction, not just the complex turnings everywhere.
He was about to turn back and go down the corridor that felt right, when he walked straight into a large room which had no door at all. He looked at the blueprint again. That should have been the room on the other side of the door, but there was a built-in wardrobe where it should have been. Looking around the rest of the room, he found that the walls were lined with book shelves, much like those in High Wizard Kalljard's chambers, except that they were all empty. There was a desk in the centre, and a leather backed chair, but nothing else. All of it was covered in inches of dust, and cobwebs billowed down around him. It was no wonder Lizzie couldn't remember this room.
As a precaution, he went into the wardrobe and knocked on the back of the wall, in case it was false. It wasn't. The wall was solid stone. He tried the same with the sides and with the other parts of the room where he could get to the wall. There was definitely no door there. Deflated, he took the long walk back to the part of the house that he knew, and put the blueprint back in the room with all the maps. Still avoiding Lizzie, he scribbled down a quick note for her and pushed it under the kitchen door before going outside.
He intended to go and get the ingredients for the travel sickness spell, but his curiosity was far too strong. With the weather still freezing, and the snow higher than his ankles, he walked along the house to find the rusty door again. It was still there, brushing aside his doubt that it might have been his imagination. He looked at it closely this time, and realised that the reddish colour was actually rust. He had thought it was only the hinges that had been affected.
He stretched out his had to touch it, but left it hovering an inch in front of it. Something was wrong. A strange tingling filled his fingertips and they grew warmer. A strong suspicion grew in his mind, and he put his hand out fully and pressed it onto the door. It felt smooth, much smoother than it should have been. He smiled. It was an illusion.
Ignoring what Lizzie had said about resting his mind magic, he pushed at the illusion. He could feel how it had been done. It was the same way he had managed to do his illusion on the pot. All he needed to do was pull back the cloth like part and the spell would lift. He tried it, tugging hard, and it began to move. He managed to get a stronger grip, and with one last tug it came free, revealing what the door really was. Thordric blinked. It was a safe.
The snow crunched behind him, and turned to see Lizzie, dressed in a thick woollen cloak. 'Lunch is r-what is that?' she said, pointing to it. 'I thought you said there was a door here?'
'I did,' he said. 'But it was an illusion. Whatever's in here, someone didn't want anyone to find it.'
Lizzie walked closer to the safe. It was much smaller than the door had been, and only a foot wide. 'I've never seen this before,' she whispered.
'Shall I open it?' he asked.
'I-yes, I suppose you should,' she said.
Ignoring the combination mechanism, he aimed his magic at the hinges. He unscrewed them and lifted the door off; crouching to see what was inside. It was a book, and a small, wooden flute. He lifted them out to show to Lizzie.
She stared at them, her face paling. She took the flute from him and rolled it around in her hands. 'This belonged to my son. I-I haven't seen it since he left.' She put it to her lips and played a few notes on it, the sound bright and cheery in the crispness of the air. 'It sounds just the same as when he used to play it.'
He saw her eyes watering, but she brushed the tears away impatiently. She held out her hand for the book, and he gave it to her. The cover had faded, and she squinted as she tried to work out what it said. She shook her head and opened it, reading a few lines. 'This is Patrick's diary,' she whispered, her tears flowed freely now. Thordric stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do.
'Boy, come back inside with me,' she said, sniffing. 'Your lunch will be spoiling.'
He followed her back into the house, where they made their way to the kitchen. He found that she had already served up his food on the table, which was still pushed to the side where he'd left it. He sat down wordlessly, waiting for her to say something. She didn't. She sat down at the far end, flicking through the book with the flute still in her hand. Not wanting to let his food get cold, he started to eat, finding that he was suddenly ravenous. He had almost finished before she spoke.
'I never knew he'd even kept a diary,' she said. Thordric stopped stuffing his mouth and looked at her, wondering if she was speaking to him or merely saying her thoughts aloud. 'Not one about magic, at least.'
'Is that what he wrote about in there then…his magic?' he said.
She looked at him, as though remembering he was there. 'Yes…I believe so. I haven't read much, but it seems to be about the spells he tried to do, and his methods for making them work.' She flicked to the back of the book. 'What disturbs me is this last entry he wrote. He talks about Kalljard, saying he needs to be stopped. It was written the day before Patrick died.'
Thordric shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 'You think he wanted Kalljard dead?'
'Dead? No, not that. But I think he wanted to try and break up the Council. He wanted to prove— like you do—what half-wizards are capable of, and to try and convince them that they have a right to be part of the Council too.'
Thordric creased his brow. 'How did you say he died agai
n?'
'He used a spell on himself, or so the pathologist said. It went terribly wrong.'
'Do you know what spell?' he said, his stomach curdling.
'I have no idea. I was too upset at the time to think about it, and my brother didn't let me see the body until it was fully prepared for the funeral.' She re-read the last page again, sighed and shut the book.
Thordric stretched his memory back to when Lizzie had first told him about her husband. 'He had an argument with one of the Council members the day he wrote that, didn't he?' he said.
'Yes.'
'It seems a bit odd that he died the next day, don't you think?' He looked at her seriously, and saw his meaning pass through her eyes.
She stood up and took his empty plate over to the sink, bringing him a slice of cake and a mug of warm tea. 'It is very odd, boy. Particularly in light of the magic he was capable of. Who do I accuse, though? I tried telling my brother about the argument Patrick and this wizard had had, but he said I was in shock and told me to stay indoors and rest. Shortly after that, my son ran away.' She picked up the flute again, feeling its smoothness with her fingers. 'I didn't have the strength to argue about it all after that.'
Chapter Thirteen: Winsome Sunbeam
The travel sickness potion was working well. They had been in the carriage for over an hour, and Thordric hadn't felt ill at all. Now his mind was free to play back the events of the last few days, giving him time to absorb how much he had truly learnt.
Unofficial Detective Page 9