I watched his solemn profile in silence for several moments before responding. “Is that what your parents are doing in Africa?” I asked gently ever leery of probing him on the topic.
He nodded somberly. “They’re spying, pretending to join the legion who serve a wizard who is seriously bad news. The things he’s doing are nothing short of pure evil but as it is, he’s too powerful now to simply punish. He must be taken down systematically and to do that, the Council needs information because in the end, there will be a war. One the Council can’t afford to lose.” He said gravely.
I shivered and shrank back into my seat, letting my coat fall over my shoulders.
“Is that why the Council is worried about the Viking? That he’s going to cause a war too?” I asked feeling light-headed and slightly nauseated. The idea of being caught in the middle of a war was cause for concern to say the least.
Ren shook his head dismissively. “I don’t know.” He said grimly.
We sat in silence both ignoring the flight attendant’s demonstration on safety devices. If our plane went down over the frigid Atlantic, we’d need a lot more than a floating cushion to survive it.
* * *
I awoke to the greenish glare of the overhead lights. My neck ached and my mouth was dry. Passengers all over the plane were waking and moving around in their seats. I rubbed my eyes and stretched trying to piece together the sequence of events that led up to my slumber. I didn’t remember deciding to fall asleep, which was disconcerting.
“Good morning.” Ren said sleepily.
I nearly jumped out of my seat with surprise. “Uh.” I groaned. “I don’t even remember falling asleep. My neck is killing me.” I complained groggily.
“You fell asleep about ten minutes into the first movie. Been sleeping ever since… I think.” Ren said rubbing the sleep out of his own eyes.
My fingers stretched around my neck and shoulders in an attempt to smooth out the pain and found my headphones still dangling there. Slowly emerging from the haze of waking in an unusual place, I recalled the vague beginning of the movie we’d begun the night before.
“I can’t believe I slept through the entire flight.” I muttered, considering how nervous I’d been when we took off.
I peered out the window. The plane hovered over a blanket of dense gray clouds for several minutes before slowly sinking into their fuzzy belly. The filmy haze beyond my window dimmed to a deeper shade of gloom before we glided beneath the clouds and abruptly bumped onto the damp runway. It appeared London itself was shrouded in a cloud.
* * *
The driver pulled the cab up to the corner of a residential street and waited in silence for payment. Ren foraged in his pocket and hastily thrust several bills into the driver’s palm before throwing the door open and leaping onto the sidewalk.
The cold fog resting lazily over the city crept through the open door. It seeped into my clothes and chilled my skin. I climbed out of the cab and peered through the mist at Uncle Harold’s house.
It stood regally at the end of a row of brick homes all tall and elegant like society ladies dressed for a ball. From what I could make out through the fog, it appeared the homes were separated from the trim sidewalk by wrought iron fences guarding small but interesting gardens.
The cab driver brushed passed me carrying a bag under each arm. Ren held the iron-gate open allowing him to pass through and the cabbie left the bags before the black lacquer door and scampered quickly past us and back into his vehicle with barely a nod of his head.
I followed Ren’s lead to the door and waited as he rang the bell, which chimed loudly on the other side. My gaze lingered on the doorknocker, a single set of raised arms resembling the clasp on the bracelet fastened around my wrist.
“Is that…” I began before the door swung open.
Uncle Harold could have been no more than five and a half feet tall but stood portly and commanding in the doorframe. His face was framed by a halo of white curls and eyes magnified by a pair of thick black-rimmed glasses.
His stern expression softened as he focused on Ren’s face. “Welcome, my boy! Splendid to see you here so soon!” He exclaimed.
For a man whose life had spanned centuries, he appeared to be a well-kept seventyish dressed comfortably in wool slacks, a scholarly cardigan and loafers.
“And you must be Eliza Gowan. Very pleased to meet you, my dear.” He said with exuberance, peering inquisitively through his thick glasses.
“Come along, in with you, now! Shall we have a bite to eat?” He asked while turning toward the dimly lit interior of the house. “Leave your bags by the door, they’ll find their way to your rooms.” He ordered loudly over his shoulder.
As Uncle Harold moved down the long hall, lights flickered and sparked throughout the house like servants caught napping on the job.
Ren and I followed him down the hall flanked by several rooms on either side, all of which looked dusty and unused as if their purpose had expired sometime in a previous century. We arrived in a surprisingly bright and cheerful sitting room with a small breakfast table set for three. A robust fire blazed in the fireplace burning off some of the dampness and banishing the chill.
“A late breakfast I suppose but I thought it the best meal to offer you.” He said, while lifting the lid off a porcelain serving dish.
A stack of hot sausages lay inside and their aroma made my mouth water.
“Fantastic. There’s nothing quite like a proper English breakfast.” Ren responded gratefully.
During breakfast, Ren filled Uncle Harold in on news about Nan, his parents, and other relatives they shared. The conversation seemed so much like a friendly family reunion that I nearly forgot our visit was based in business.
At the end of the meal, when we were all stuffed and feeling sleepy by the fire, Uncle Harold shoved back his chair to stand and studied his pocket watch.
“Well, then, you two settle yourselves upstairs and freshen up as you’d like. I’ll be on my way to the office. Why don’t you meet me there, say at three o’clock? We can discuss your mission then.” Uncle Harold said decidedly.
Ren nodded. “We’ll be there, Uncle Harold. Thank you for the delicious breakfast.” He added with a satisfied grin.
Uncle Harold smiled and patted Ren paternally on the shoulder. “It’s not every day that the courier is my nephew.” He replied proudly.
Without further discussion he left the room and a half-minute later we heard the front door shut behind him.
“Why do we have to go down to Uncle Harold’s office to deliver the message? Not that I mind, just wondering.” I inquired as Ren and I mounted the stairs.
“Maybe it’s safer.” Ren replied sleepily without bothering to elaborate.
When we reached the top of the stairs I noticed that my bags sat outside one door and Ren’s were waiting before another.
“Meet you back here in a couple of hours.” Ren said with a tired smile. “I barely slept at all last night.” He added with a yawn.
“Ok.” I replied hesitantly, still considering the magic behind the traveling bags but before I could raise the question with Ren, he had slipped through the door of his room and flopped face down on the bed.
21
Ren and I made our way through the fog and eventually the string of mansions gave way to streets lined with small stores and then bigger stores until after a while we found ourselves in the middle of a bustling corporate section of the city.
“What does Uncle Harold do that he has an office down here?” I asked curiously, considering what profession could be sustained over three hundred or so years.
“Well, for one, he’s the official historian for the Heka Society but besides that he writes books. Mostly historical novels, biographies, that sort of thing.” He said sounding distracted.
“Do you see an address anywhere?” He asked scanning the storefronts before us.
I set about looking for a number too but failed to find one.
&
nbsp; “Oh, there’s The Red Feather, a pub Uncle Harold and I went to the last time I was in town! His office building should be few doors down.” He said picking up the pace.
Some of the buildings looked to be on the older side in this part of London but for the most part, the facades were remarkably new considering the rest of the city. It appeared that business, new, prosperous, expensive business happened in this part of town. At least it looked that way until Ren halted.
After passing so many modern buildings, it was a surprise to stand before the massive medieval door. I took a step back to view the building itself before we entered. It was stone and oddly narrow compared to its neighbors. In fact, it downright stuck out like an ancient relic. The windows were long, narrow, and curved to a point at the top with wrought iron bars running down their length. The glass fitted into the old design looked watery, the type that distorted images.
“Here we are.” Ren said giving the massive door a yank.
The gloomy entryway was completely bare giving no indication as to what organizations occupied the building. The only option for exploring the interior was a stone stairwell poorly lit by a large chandelier suspended from the roof beams. When we’d reached the third floor, Ren darted down an even dimmer, windowless hallway and knocked on a door.
“Enter!” Uncle Harold called from the other side of a very solid wooden door.
Uncle Harold’s office was low ceilinged and cramped. Shelves littered with crusty books, crumpled papers and a number of other knickknacks that dated him lined the wall behind a bulky desk where he sat. His office claimed only one of the windows we’d seen from outside, which permitted a scant amount of gray light into the room.
A dusty old cat with an enormous brown and orange mane framing its squashed face blinked irritably in our direction from a perch on the deep stone windowsill. An oil lamp that had been converted to accommodate electricity brightened the desk area and Uncle Harold’s face.
“I almost forgot my way.” Ren said flopping down in a chair and dropping his backpack on the floor.
“Hi, Uncle Harold.” I said and dropped into a chair next to Ren.
“You brought the package?” He asked pointedly, getting down to business.
“Yes, here it is.” Ren said pulling the package from his bag. He set it on top of Uncle Harold’s desk.
The cat hissed. Its glassy eyes fixed on the package. It bounded across the room and up to the top of the bookshelf where it nestled itself like a snow leopard on a mountain ledge.
“There, there Persephone. It’s not worth raising your dander, dear girl.” Uncle Harold said reassuringly to the cat.
Yet, he regarded the wrapped package suspiciously for several moments before approaching it delicately with his fingers.
“Never quite sure what you might find beneath the surface, hmmm.” He muttered under his breath while gently untying the mass of knotted string around the lumpy brown package.
When the last knot unraveled, he sucked in an expectant breath as the string fell away. Nothing happened.
“Mmm, curious.” He muttered again to himself and gingerly peeled away the brown paper.
With the paper crumpled on the floor, the mysterious object sitting on the desk was nearly as ambiguous as it had been when wrapped.
The object appeared to be a tangled ball of black wire carved out like a piece of Swiss cheese.
“Aha! A Sithygrif! I haven’t seen one of these in decades. Clever! Clever Amelia.” Uncle Harold proclaimed more to himself than his audience with an amused grin and leaned closer to the ambiguous ball.
“What’s a sithygrif Uncle Harold?” Ren asked taking a step closer to the desk.
But Uncle Harold wasn’t listening to him. His face was so close to the sithygrif that the tip of his long nose poked through one of the many holes in the lumpy ball and he was whispering.
After several minutes of hushed murmuring, Uncle Harold sat back in his chair and frowned.
“Odd.” He muttered.
“You see, Ren, Eliza, a sithygrif is a puzzle that should reveal its message when whispered to by the intended recipient. I simply can’t imagine what has gone wrong with the spell binding this particular one.” He said staring at the inert metal ball and rubbed his chin.
“What if I try?” Ren asked.
“Amelia knows that Eliza and I are the couriers, maybe she coded it for one of us.” He offered.
Uncle Harold’s eyebrows peaked. “Wouldn’t have been wise of her now, would it? If she’d done that then why go to all the trouble of making a sithygrif in the first place? Its purpose is to absolve the courier from responsibility of the truth, should you have been ambushed.” He grumbled.
Ren held his tongue seemingly unsure of whether to proceed.
After a few moments of pensive silence Uncle Harold gestured toward the sithygrif. “Well, go on then.” He said impatiently.
Ren took another step toward the desk and leaned down bringing his face close to the sithygrif. “Is there something particular I should whisper?” He asked.
“Not at all, say whatever you’d like. If the message is meant for you, your whisper will be enough.” Uncle Harold replied.
Ren murmured so softly I couldn’t make out his words but despite his best effort, the sithygrif remained unchanged. Finally giving up, he reluctantly stood and turned away from the desk. His eyes lit on mine expectantly.
“Eliza, why don’t you have a go?” He asked.
I took a few slow steps to the desk and hesitantly leaned toward the sithygrif. I felt silly talking to an inanimate object as if I was telling it a juicy secret and I just couldn’t think of a thing to say.
“Go on now! Let’s get about it shall we?” Uncle Harold urged in my ear.
Feeling Ren and Uncle Harold’s impatient gazes upon me, I took a deep breath and softly recited the lyrics to the song “London Bridge” for lack of a better idea.
Just as I began the second line of ‘falling down’ a piece of the sithygrif actually did fall down. And what fell off was a shiny black letter ‘a.’
After the first letter disentangled itself from the ball, others soon followed like leaves off an autumn tree.
“Humph! Amelia should have known better.” Uncle Harold muttered shaking his head all the while peering at the chain of letters spilling onto his desk.
The little letters slid across the desk and jostled around each other until they began to form words. The process continued until the entire ball had disintegrated and the desk was covered in line after line of words.
Ren and I scampered around the desk, flanking Uncle Harold in his large chair, to read the letter.
dearest harold it has been too long my old friend –
i regret contacting you only to disclose a most disturbing truth
there has been a rising in the north –
ivarr the viking who has been living in peace in the northernmost section of newfoundland for nearly four centuries is assembling an army –
there has been a wicked skirmish brewing in his land of birth between the kingdom of the elves and his own beloved descendants –
despite the heka council’s prohibitions against violence ivarr has used mind manipulation to persuade a number of witches to join him –
i myself have rescued a few from his clutches –
the breadth of his intentions are unknown but it is feared time is short to stop him –
word of the turmoil is spreading like wildfire carrying fear and distrust with it –
your wisdom and assistance is requested in quieting this unpleasant disturbance as swiftly as possible –
gravely, amelia light
“If the letter is addressed to you, Uncle Harold, why was it coded for Eliza?” Ren asked.
Uncle Harold stared pensively at Amelia’s message before responding. “Ah well, it appears my dear Amelia wanted to ensure I shared the message. Clearly, she felt it important Eliza was privy to this highly confidential news.” He s
aid in a preoccupied manner as if his thoughts lay elsewhere.
“Do you know why?” I asked uneasily. While the situation with Ivarr sounded tenuous, I didn’t see how it would affect me particularly and from the sound of the guy, I wasn’t interested in getting involved with him or his war.
Uncle Harold yanked the top drawer of his desk open and with one large sweep of his arm brushed the little letters into it. Then he slammed the drawer closed and with a snap of his fingers a key appeared in his hand. He promptly locked the drawer and with another snap the key disappeared.
“Oh my dear, do not worry yourself about the matter now. I am certain the purpose of informing you will make itself known in due time.” Uncle Harold mumbled in response, sounding tired and a bit sad.
Ren and I circled back around his desk and sank onto chairs.
Uncle Harold lifted his gaze from the desk drawer and smiled wearily at us. “Well now. I must complete a bit of paperwork informing the Society of the success of your first important mission.” He said.
Ren and I glanced at each other quickly to share a triumphant grin.
“My work here should not keep me long. Why don’t the two of you take leave now and meet me at home within the hour. I will take you out for a celebratory feast!” He added exuberantly.
“Uncle Harold, that’s not necess–” Ren began but was interrupted by an emphatic wave of Uncle Harold’s hand.
“No no, we will celebrate. It is most important to celebrate even our minor successes in times like these.” He stated firmly.
Ren stopped protesting.
“In that case, we’ll see you at home shortly.” He said gratefully.
“You can find your way out, I assume?” Uncle Harold asked.
“Of course.” Ren answered and leapt to his feet.
Convinced of our departure, Persephone boldly leapt from the bookshelf and landed with a soft thud onto Uncle Harold’s desk scattering papers and raising a plume of dust.
Eliza's Shadow Page 22