Bad Apple (The Warner Grimoire)

by Clay Held

  “Absolutely.”

  “Couldn’t be counted on.” The other woman chittered excitedly in agreement. “Not since he...well, you know.”

  “Oh I know, never did keep my poor Vernon in work more than half the year.”

  “Speaking of, did you hear Cynric Dempster is being considered for the Council?”

  “Oh no, I hadn’t, after all these years?”

  “Heard it from Goody Neb just this morning. We both thought he was too fond of the bottle to be considered.” The second woman turned to Simon, who was completely lost by their conversation. “Never know which way the leaves will fall, do we?”

  Nathan cleared his throat. “Simon,” he said, “this is Claudia and Jeannette Verde.” Both women eagerly shook his hand, leaning close to him and scanning his face intently.

  “Reminds me of that Thomas Warner,” Claudia said finally. “He hasn’t been around in months, has he?”

  “Years,” Jeannette said. “Years at least.”

  Claudia’s face brightened. “Is that your father, boy? Thomas? Where’s he been hiding?”

  “Err, yes,” Simon said. “I mean, he’s my father. He’s, at, well...”

  “Away,” Nathan said. Leaning in close to the sisters, he added, “Folk business.” The sisters exchanged an excited look, and seemingly satisfied with this, they leaned back to discuss between themselves.

  “That should occupy them,” Nathan whispered to Simon. The gray cat wound its way over to Simon, nuzzling his leg and purring, and he scratched its ears idly. Folk business, Nathan had said. Was it just a ruse, something he had spun for the sisters, or was there more to it than that? The question of what Nathan really knew still burned like fire in Simon’s mind.

  The gray cat pushed harder against Simon’s legs, but wouldn’t let Simon come close to picking him up. Instead the cat trotted back to the two sisters as Ellicott Sterling approached the podium in the center of the room.

  “Let us begin,” he said. “All who can, please rise for the Creed.”

  Simon stood with the rest of the assembly, each placing their hand over their heart, and then all at once their eyes began to glow--brilliant blues, radiant reds, pairs of silver and gold surrounding him. They began to speak in unison, their combined voice resonating off the walls of the ancient room. Simon did not know what to say, so he listened as they recited their Creed:

  I do not see magic with my eyes.

  My eyes are weak, and magic hides in the Dark.

  When gloom is the path set before me, Algul let me see with my mind.

  I do not cast spells with my tongue.

  My tongue is weak, and spellcraft hides in the Dark.

  When gloom is the path set before me, Algul let me cast with my soul.

  I do not curse with my magic.

  My magic is weak, and curses hide in the Dark.

  When gloom is the path set before me, Algul let me curse with my heart.

  A soft rumbling pushed through the air around Simon, signaling the beginning of the meeting. The assembly sat down without another word while Sterling approached the podium.

  “Let the minutes reflect that for today’s meeting our regular archival duties will be entrusted to Ms. Penelope Nettle, daughter of Peter Nettle, Head Archivist.” Sterling spoke quickly, indicating the red-haired girl from earlier, who now sat at the far end of the table to his right. “Ms. Nettle won’t begin fulfilling her official duties for many years, but given the unexpected illness of Goody Neb this evening, this course of action proved the most prudent. Ms. Nettle,” he said, looking in the girl’s direction, “do not let us down.” The girl nodded nervously. Sterling continued without noticing her. “Well, then, onward, everyone? I see we have a few leftover matters of business from our last meeting that we failed to discuss.”

  The red-haired girl scribbled furiously as the meeting wore on. Before long, she had a huge pile of papers in front of her, and the meeting showed no sign of ending. As the business of the day wore on Simon began to understand the need for a meeting room where time held utterly still. After the recounting of some old business involving an infestation of something called a krumpus, another man delivered a report on the rising risk of shipping exotic materials along their regular transport routes.

  “Duly noted,” the Archmancer noted as the man finished his report. “At this time, it is the recommendation of the Council,” he indicated the people seated to his sides, “and the Archmancer, Ellicott Sterling, that the transportation of silver eagle feathers remain on their designated routes.” The man started to protest, but Sterling quickly added, “BUT, should future incidents with the Old Dominion occur, we will assign members of the Council to explore the option of additional security. Does the membership agree?”

  There was a general murmur from the crowd, while the other members of the board sat silently, nodding their heads slowly. The man walked slowly back to his seat while the red-haired girl hurried to record the official vote numbers.

  “Why doesn’t she just use magic to keep her notes?” Simon whispered to Nathan.

  “She has to learn to do it herself first,” Nathan said. “Magic is a tool, Simon, not a crutch. You get too used to using it for everything, you forget how to use common sense.” He leaned in closer. “Many folks around here have forgotten that.”

  Simon watched the girl continue to record everything, from the update on the pack of goat-men moving through the forest to the final piece of new business concerning the finalized guest list for the Masquerade Ball to occur on Halloween. The pile of paper slowly grew in front of her until only see her fiery red locks peaked out over the top.

  “I believe that concludes the agenda items concerning the Council,” Sterling said eventually. “At this time the floor is open for discussion and opinions from the assembly. I believe there was a concern from Mr. Chapman regarding his apple orchard on the east side of the grounds...”

  Nathan rose suddenly. “With all apologies to Jonathan,” he said, indicating a haggardly looking man who had just started to speak. “I have an urgent matter for the council.” He looked around the room quickly. “I have located the apple of the Warner line.” The room instantly broke into murmurs. “Furthermore,” he continued, “I have learned the identity of his kidnapper.” He drew a deep breath. “Samuel Marshall Thatch.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE COUNCIL

  Shock held Simon to his seat. Kidnapped?

  Another murmur rippled through the assembly. The Verde sisters exchanged surprised looks and started whispering between themselves.

  Sterling observed Nathan with a strange look. “Mr. Tamerlane,” he said, “we received your notice earlier today regarding,” he checked his notes,“Samuel Marshall Thatch. You are here to tell us that not only he has been found, but also that he was the abductor of the Warner child, all those years ago?”

  “Yes,” Nathan said stiffly. He risked a glance back at Simon, who stared disbelievingly at him. Kidnapped? It didn’t make any sense at all. Was Nathan lying to the council? It didn’t seem so. They all apparently know what he was talking about, so did that mean Nathan had lied to him, had he been keeping secrets since the beginning? It was too much to process at once.

  Sterling’s voice clanged sharply through the confusion. “You have done your duty as a Journeyman of this order and apprehended him, I presume?”

  “No,” Nathan said. “I was unable--he was taken by another before I could.”

  The Archmancer raised a mouse gray eyebrow. “So the abductor was abducted you say?” He spoke wryly. “Why am I not surprised.”

  “He was taken,” Nathan repeated, “by Fellis Boeman, suspected servant of--”

  “Thank you,” Sterling said, cutting Nathan off. “We are already aware of Mr. Boeman’s alleged associations. Leaving that matter aside, I can assure you that an inquiry will be convened to ascertain the veracity of this alleged abduction.” He checked his notes. “Fellis is abroad, so we’ve been told, so we e
xpect a response within two moons.”

  Simon roused himself from his stupor “Two moons?” he asked, confused and frustrated. He looked at Nathan, suddenly uncertain whether he was friend or foe. “What does that mean?”

  “Two months roughly,” Nathan whispered back. “Archmancer Sterling, if I may, I can remove any doubt to the truth of the matter.” He beckoned to Simon to join him, and put his hand on his shoulder. Simon quietly fumed at the gesture of familiarity. “I have a witness here who can attest to the matter.”

  Sterling swept a loose hair back into place. “You brought an unauthorized and unwelcome person into Silverwood, I see.”

  “Hardly unwelcome,” Nathan said. “He was in my notice.” He took another deep breath. “Simon Theodore Warner. Born in a snowstorm, raised in a forest.”

  A great wave of excitement overtook the crowd. Claudia and Jeanette Verde beamed great smiles, informing those around them of their association with the boy. Sterling looked up from his notes, his eyes focusing on Simon. “Is this so?” The words were sour in his mouth. “I don’t see any mention of him in your notice,” he said, holding up a small piece of paper.

  “Oh, I’m sure it was there,” Nathan said. “Second page, I believe.”

  Sterling shuffled through his papers. “I only have one page here.”

  “Oh, well, sounds like the second page got lost,” Nathan said casually. The red-haired looked up from her notes, aghast. She yanked out a clean sheet of paper, scribbling a small note on it before tucking it into her pocket.

  More paper shuffling by the Archmancer. “Cynric,” Sterling said. “I fail to see any mention of young Mr. Warner in your message as well.”

  “I might have forgot that detail,” Cynric said gruffly, glancing at Nathan. Simon swore that, for a second, Nathan gave the most imperceptible of nods to the woodsman. “Ol’ Grisly’s been a might bit antsy with all the thropes and hobs in the wood as of late,” Cynric said. “Must’ve slipped my mind.”

  A man sitting at the end of the table to Sterling’s left made a loud, impatient noise. He was rumpled and sour-looking, with patches of beard sprouting at odd angles all across his face. His hair clung greasily to his head, and everything about his clothing was filthy, except for a pair of pristine white gloves he wore.

  “Yes, Douglas?” The Archmancer looked at the disheveled man, who sat suddenly quiet. The Archmancer sighed. “Does Junior Officer Churl have any opinion into the supposed disappearance of Mr. Thatch?”

  The rumpled man crossed his arms sullenly. “The Junior Officer does not,” he said, fidgeting with his dingy blue robe. “The Junior Officer only finds it typical behavior from what he remembers of Mr. Thatch, and Mr. Tamerlane.”

  “That so?” Nathan locked eyes with Junior Official. “I could offer some stories about you, Doug.”

  “Thank you,” Sterling said sternly. “Ms. Nettle, please strike the last comments from the minutes. We will refrain, everyone, from engaging in spurious rumor. The inquiry will be dispatched, and it is, at this time, the recommendation of the Council, and the Archmancer, that--”

  “I saw him!” Simon shouted, his anger starting to boil over, at Nathan, at the Archmancer, at everybody there. “Boeman was there, at our home.”

  More murmuring.

  “Simon, hang on,” Nathan said.

  “Did you truly see him?” Sterling sorted through his notes, not bothering to look up. “Did you see him abduct Mr. Thatch?”

  Sterling’s words sizzled in Simon’s head. He paused, picking at his memories, his anger momentarily jammed. “Well...no, but he told me, in the alley behind our tavern.”

  “Hmm,” Sterling said, fixing his eyes coldly on Simon. “So we have only your testimony to guide us. Tell me,” he said, “did you, at any time, see Mr. Thatch in any state of distress?”

  “Their home was burning,” Nathan said, stepping in front of Simon. “He was inside containing the fire so we could make it out.” The image of Molly running down the back hallway floated through Simon’s mind. Zoey, still sleeping in her mother’s arms, her mother running down the alley.

  “Couldn’t it be,” Junior Officer Churl said, “that Thatch conspired with Mr. Boeman, if he even was there, to use the fire as a means of distraction, of escape, himself? Seems to me that Mr. Thatch might have grown tired of the life of a wanted kidnapper and babysitter and saw a chance to make a new life for himself.”

  “He wouldn’t,” Simon said. “We’re a family. We’re happy.”

  Churl raised his eyebrow again. “That so? Thatch, our kidnapper, a family man?”

  “He’s not a kidnapper!” Simon screamed, his anger finally igniting, tiny sparks flying from his hands. The room fell tomb-quiet. “He is my family,” he spat, his blood hot in his ears. “He has always been good to me. He did NOT kidnap me, he loves me, and he loves Molly and Zoey. He wouldn’t abandon us.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sterling said dispassionately. “Who?”

  “They’re not of the Folk,” Nathan said. “This doesn’t concern them.” Simon started to speak again, but Nathan held out his hand, and Simon’s vocal cords froze.

  “Typical,” Churl said. “Consorting with those who would see our kind hunted down and eradicated.”

  “Last time I checked,” Nathan said, his voice ice, “we had larger hounds to hunt, Doug.”

  “That will be a discussion for another time and place,” Sterling said. “At this time, the Board, and the Archmancer, recommends we await word from our official inquiry. Now then, and then only,” he added, “we will reassess. Until then, the matter is closed. Ms. Nettle, please earmark Mr. Tamerlane’s demeanor for review.”

  Simon looked to Nathan, who was staring straight ahead at Sterling.

  “Never mind, then.” Nathan stepped closer to the podium. “I guess the matter is closed for now.” He paused. “Well, then, I guess we’ll be going.”

  “Excuse me?” Sterling fixed his eyes on Nathan. “Our meeting has not concluded. You have not been dismissed.”

  “Our business is done,” Nathan said, turning to leave. “We will excuse ourselves, thank you.” Nathan strode towards the doorway, leaving Simon fuming in the middle of the floor.

  The eyes in the room settled on Simon, and he fidgeted furiously under all the attention. He hurried out of the room after Nathan, past the Verde sisters, who were busily whispering to several of the people around them. The gray cat from earlier sat by the doorway, flicking its tail, its blue eyes following Simon as he stormed past.

  Nathan stormed up the ancient hallway, clutching his grimoire and flipping wildly through the pages as he walked.

  Simon caught up to Nathan, his vocal cords thawing as he spat his words at Nathan. “Why did you say I was kidnapped?”

  “Because you were,” Nathan said, never stopping. “Officially, anyway.”

  This made no sense. “What are you talking about?”

  Nathan slammed his book shut. “You weren’t just on a vacation out there in the corn fields, kid,” he snapped. “Your parents were gone, it was just you. The Dominion wanted you. We had to make you disappear. That meant no note, no forwarding address. Gone. We had zero choice.”

  “So you helped him kidnap me?”

  “I helped him save you,” Nathan snapped. “You would be dead if it wasn’t for us.”

  “Dead,” mocked the Other Voice. “Dead dead dead. Dead as a rat. Dead as a dog. See the man who saved you? Is he your friend, or your foe?”

  The words were ice in Simon’s mind. He stared at the cobweb-covered chair opposite him, momentarily dumbstruck, his thoughts completely jammed. He was beginning to worry about the Other Voice, what it meant, who it might be. “Dead?” he repeated.

  Nathan was at the foyer door. “Or worse,” he said slowly, staring at the floor. His shoulders were slumped, as if he was carrying a terrible weight. “Sterling wasn’t about to help us back there. He’s not nearly as popular or as powerful as most would have you think. Plenty believe
he’s a weak successor to the old Archmancer, and we just dropped a huge problem on him in front of everyone. A problem that he doesn’t want to handle. So he’s going to stall with his inquiry. As far as he and the council are concerned, the matter is delayed for now.” Before opening the door, Nathan added, “Sam has friends in there, as well as enemies. They all needed to see you, see that you were alive. The embers will begin to burn on both sides now. Things will start to happen.”

  “So that was your plan all along? Just rile everyone up and hope someone will help us? That’s it?”

  Nathan held up his grimoire. “No, that’s not it at all,” his voice edged with frustration. “From here we go to the Archives. Someone there needs to meet with us.”

  Simon swallowed the last of his anger--sour, hot feelings that he wasn’t ready to digest. He knew these feelings would boil back up later. He only hoped he would be alone when that happened. He didn’t nearly trust Nathan as much now, but at this point he had no other option. He resigned himself to this and stepped through the door, his ears popping painfully as he reentered the foyer. He let out a small gasp from the pain and looked around, looking for Luke, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  “I thought you said we came back to when we left,” Simon said, rubbing his ears. He wasn’t ready to let Nathan off the hook for the slightest thing yet.

  “They don’t like when you leave early.” Nathan rubbed his ears and grimaced. “We’re probably just a few extra minutes off. The meeting was almost done anyway.” Nathan led Simon up the stairs to the second floor. “We’re going to be staying here a few days.” Seeing the look on Simon’s face he quickly added, “No, not for the inquiry to return. All they’ll report is Boeman’s denial along with his disgust and dismay at such an abominable accusation.” Nathan turned down the second floor hallway. “We have a few others to find--”

  A magenta spark shot down the hallway, followed closely by a woman with dark, curly hair, wielding a small hatchet in her hand. She was dressed for the hunt, from her leather boots to the dirt-stained pants and jacket. She wore several silver bracelets that jingled as she ran--the only fancy thing about her. She moved almost as quickly as her prey, dodging the manor servants moving boxes in the hall, never missing a beat as she pursued her prey. The spark zipped between Simon and Nathan, bobbed under a small table, then dropped off the edge through the banister guardrails to the ground level. The woman stopped at the banister, muttering something under breath. She turned around, her dark hair falling in huge clumps around her shoulders when she locked eyes with Nathan. “Dogs and devils...” she whispered. “Nathan!” She embraced him suddenly, and her face quickly flushed red. She let him go, and the smile on her face quickly drained away, her shoulders dropping. “The fairy’s not yours, is it?”