Doug, I realized.
They were Stay-at-Home Suitcases. Both of them had labels attached to them. They read:
FINLEY MCPHEE
ENCHANTED EMPORIUM
I pulled them out from under the bed and heard something move inside. I clicked open the first suitcase’s locks and opened it wide to find a pair of small boxes and one large bundle. On the inside of the lid, Aiby had written the names of three different magical objects:
Night Spectacles: Indispensable for when the darkness assails you.
Transmogrifier: Think of an animal you want to become and picture it in your head!
Lightning Launcher: Once you grasp it, it does everything else by itself.
In the first box, I found a pair of sunglasses with weird frames. The second box contained an engraved seal for marking wax. Inside the bundle of fabric, I found a sword with a silver hilt sheathed in a black scabbard.
“Wow!” I cried. I’d never seen such a beautiful handle. It was made from a lattice mesh as light as lace, and it had a purple stone set in the center. I gently slipped the sword out of its scabbard. It felt weightless in my hand. I contemplated the thin, white blade as it quivered ominously in the night. Along the side of the blade, several tiny, illegible letters shined in the starlight.
I slashed the air like a fencer. “This is quite a sword.”
The zing! sound the blade made caused Patches to hide in the shadows. Even Angelica stared at me in awe. It felt like the sword had always been mine — and always would be. That’s how it felt to hold the mighty Lightning Launcher.
I glanced at Angelica. “What should I do now, in your opinion?” I asked.
“What are you missing? What else do you want? Your spirit needs lifting! With heroes you’ll jaunt! You have the ticket, the sword, and the letter. Someone with courage would be able to get her!”
I needed to stay calm as I was tempted to cut off her head. I knew I had to find the Sunken Castle — that much was clear. I made a mental list of the things I had that might help: I had Aiby’s diary as well as her message asking for help, and I had the ticket for that strange bus line. I also had the suitcases — one of which I’d take with me, and the other I’d leave behind with Meb in case I ran into problems. But what else did I need?
I saw a silvery reflection on the table in my room. The tiny pocket mirror I’d found on the beach the day Doug left was reflecting starlight. I tossed it into the suitcase. I placed Angelica inside along with it, ignoring her protests. Then I tied some rope to both suitcases and lowered them out the window.
I dropped the rope down with the suitcases. I walked downstairs, left through the rear door, and circled the house to where I’d dropped the suitcases. Carefully, I loaded them into Meb’s tiny car. Then I went back to the front porch and joined my parents and Meb.
The moonless night revealed a magnificent starlit sky. My parents were relaxed and staring up at the stars in silence. Meb looked at me, obviously wondering what the plan was. I gave her a thumbs-up got lost in the sea of stars along with my mom and dad.
Until that summer, Applecross had been the most boring town in all of Scotland. That all changed when the Lilys arrived. Now, even the most mundane things seemed interesting. But even at that moment, I was still naïve — I thought that only myself, Meb, Doug, and the Lilys knew anything about the magical world surrounding us. Had I paid more attention that evening, I would’ve noticed the poignant look my father gave my mother to indicate it was time for them to go to sleep so I could be alone with Meb.
The world seemed like a universe ripe for exploring, and I felt like its biggest hero.
Once I was sure my parents were far enough away, I quickly told Meb about the puppet and the two suitcases that I’d prepared in case they were needed.
“From what I can tell, the Lilys have the gift of foresight,” I finished.
“And when do you plan to leave?” Meb asked.
“Right away, I’d say,” I said. “I have no idea how long it takes to get to this Sunken Castle, but Aiby wrote that it wasn’t very far away from Applecross.”
Meb passed me the diary. “She called it a ‘library’ twice, but both times the word was crossed out.”
I nodded. There were many words crossed out in that diary. I wondered if my name was one of them.
I pointed to the road leading to the village, just outside the gate to our farm. “Will you wait for me at the first turn?” I asked.
When Meb went back to her car, I patted Patches and asked him to be a good dog and wait outside for me. Then I closed the door carefully and went upstairs.
I slipped my pillows under the covers so it’d look like I was sleeping there. Then I wrote my parents a short note in case they saw through my not-so-clever ruse.
After I’d finished writing, I reread the note, crumpled it into a ball, and wrote a second one:
I have to go be a hero.
Don’t worry about me. I’ll come back as soon as possible.
Don’t look for me (or Patches).
P.S.: I borrowed fifty bucks from Dad’s wallet, just to be safe. I’ll pay it back.
I left the note on my bed, climbed down from the window, and landed like a cat. I circled the house, proud of my stealthy escape.
Then my rascal of a dog barked at me. I pet him to keep him calm while we stayed still for a few minutes to make sure my parents hadn’t woken up. After that, I ran down the path to the farm, tossed Patches outside the gate, climbed over it myself, and then jogged along the coastal road. Meb’s car was waiting at the first turn. She had gotten out to gaze at the sea … and she was smoking.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” I said, standing by her.
“Neither did I,” she said.
“Those things will kill you, you know,” I said with a smirk.
Meb smiled. “Since when are you the responsible one?” she joked. She threw the cigarette on the ground and stamped it out with her foot. Then she caught my eye, picked it back up, and deposited it into the ashtray in her car. Both of us smiling, we hopped in her car, Meb started the engine and drove us along the Baelanch Ba.
We drank in the view from the coastal road. Neither of us spoke. Patches sniffed at the suitcases in the backseat. Eventually, we reached the crossroads for the Emporium. Meb stopped and we got out.
“What now?” Meb asked.
I opened Aiby’s diary and pulled out the strange bus ticket. It had a logo of a tree with upside-down roots on it. I showed it to Meb.
“Any instructions?” Meb asked.
I pointed at the dotted line around the roots. A line of text read: All aboard the Incognito Bus! For profound Journeys, tear here …
“So tear it, then,” Meb said.
“But it makes no sense,” I said. “We should figure out what it does first.”
Meb smiled. “What does Aiby always say about you needing answers?” she teased.
I nodded. With both hands, I tore the bus ticket in half. We waited. Naturally, nothing happened. “Maybe that’s not how you’re supposed to do it,” I muttered.
“Or maybe it is,” Meb whispered, pointing to the horizon.
I could barely see the headlights of a red London bus tottering toward us along the coastal road.
When the Incognito Bus neared us, its driver turned on the blinker and pulled over to the side of the road. Its destination sign read: Finley McPhee.
The driver opened the door and greeted me with a sharp nod. He was stocky, burly, and extremely hairy. A New York Knicks baseball cap sat on his head (which happened to my favorite basketball team — and Doug’s).
“No animals on board,” he said when he saw Patches.
“He’s not an animal,” I said. “He’s my family member.”
The man checked his book of regulations. He grunted, “Fine. I don’t wa
nt any problems, okay?”
Patches and I reluctantly climbed aboard. The bus lurched forward with a jerk and a wheeze. I placed Patches on the seat next to me and waved to Meb through the window. Her expressed made it clear she was just as worried as I was.
I caught the driver looking at me in the huge rearview mirror. “Do you know where we’re headed?” I asked him.
He shifted gears. “You tell me,” he said.
I turned around to check if anyone else was on the bus, but I saw only empty seats and little colored mirrors hanging from the windows. The floor gave off a sickly sweet smell.
I sighed. “Never mind,” I said. “I was just trying to make conversation.”
The driver tackled a turn in the road with a certain lightheartedness. Then he adjusted his cap and asked me, “First time?”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“It’s the first time you’ve taken this bus,” he said.
“Y-yes,” I said. “To be honest, I’m a little confused.”
“That’s normal,” he said with an air of indifference. “Not many of your kind take this trip.”
I sat in silence for a while. Without anything better to do, I opened Aiby’s diary to look for advice. Right after the pages about the departure, Aiby had written down some remarks — that her father was quiet and clearly worried while Doug never shut up (which seemed to me to be pretty normal for both of them). She mentioned they had taken the Incognito Bus, but she gave no information about its grouchy driver or the trip’s length.
This particular entry ended mid-sentence. Aiby must have fallen asleep along the way, I figured. Talking to Doug for too long will do that to you.
I flipped through the rest of the pages — the few that hadn’t been torn out, anyway. In one entry, Aiby wrote: The trials to get there are three. Discouraged you mustn’t be. Only a true hero will pass and be free.
Everything she wrote was interesting — at least to me. Especially her thoughts about other thoughts.
“I wonder why girls write these kinds of things,” I wondered aloud, “but they never write where they are, what they’re doing, or why they’re doing it.”
“Hey, who can say?” the driver said. “But rest assured that’s just the way it is, old chap.”
I picked up the notebook. “I mean, take this entry for example. She wrote twelve pages about her feelings!”
“It keeps her happy,” the driver said.
Given my extensive experience of reading diaries (this being the only one), a magical bus driver’s opinion seemed as good as anyone’s. Besides, it couldn’t hurt to find some common ground.
“I think you’re right,” I said. “My name’s Finley. This little rascal here is Patches.”
“Hullo,” the driver said and tipped his cap. “I’m Tim. But everyone calls me Timmy.”
“Pleased to meet you, Tim,” I said.
He grunted. “The pleasure’s mine,” he said. “Do you mind if I put on a little music?”
“Anything you like,” I said. Then I added, “Well, anything but ABBA.”
“Hey, now we’re talking,” agreed Tim.
“No Justin Timberlake, either,” I added.
“Finally someone who knows his stuff,” Tim said.
Irish folk music filled the cabin. I knew it well. It was Villagers.
I was starting to like that bus. I leaned back and read some of the earlier pages of Aiby’s diary, but the light inside the bus was dim and the scenery raced by. After a couple of pages, I started to feel nauseated.
I set the diary on my lap and yawned. A moment later, my head drooped. I decided that if I had to rescue Aiby, her father, all the shopkeepers, and possibly even Doug, then I might as well get some rest. I pulled the lever that was supposed to make the seat recline, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Afraid it’s broken, friend,” Tim told me. Before I could move to another seat, he added, “They’re all broken, actually.”
“You should get someone to fix them,” I said sleepily.
“No point. They want it this way,” Tim grunted. “The broken parts make the bus ‘vintage.’ It’s part of the experience, you see: the tree-root ticket torn in half, the red London bus, the driver who’s a little unsociable but also a little nice who reminds you of one of the fairy tales by the Brothers Grimm … ”
“Hey, I didn’t think that!” I lied.
“Actually, you don’t seem like the others I’ve taken for rides,” Timmy said. He nodded firmly, noisily blew his nose, and shifted gears with a rumble. “For all I know, you’re straight out of a book written by Dr. Seuss.”
I yawned. “Yeah, right,” I said. “Dr. Seuss? Ha. More like H.P. Lovecraft.” Another yawn. “Sorry if I fall asleep at some point.”
“No problem, I’m used to it,” the driver said. “In fact, thanks for the conversation, old chap.”
Patches was a bundle of warm fur curled up next to me. “My pleasure,” I said. “You know where to stop, right?”
Tim chuckled. “Of course!” he said. “We stop at the crossroads.”
Those were the last words I heard.
When I woke up, we had reached the crossroads.The bus engine was off and the door was open. A faint breeze came from outside, which made the little mirrors hanging from the windows jingle.
The bus driver was gone. I rubbed my eyes and looked around. “Tim, are you there?” I called out. “Mr. Tim? Timmy?”
I figured he must have gotten off to stretch his legs (or maybe we had a flat?), so I did the same. The bus’s hood was warm to the touch, so we hadn’t been stopped for very long.
Small stars shined in the sky. They seemed more distant than those I’d seen at my house. We were near a forest. Except for a streetlight shining right in the middle of a fork in the road, it was completely dark.
The driver said we would stop at the crossroads, I remembered.
Bus drivers usually don’t vanish into thin air in the middle of the night, I thought. He must be around here somewhere.
“Tim?” I called out again. I circled the bus twice, then went back inside to check the upper level and between the seats, but I found nothing and no one. A light scent of mint aftershave filled the upper deck, which reminded me of Doug’s closet. I cursed, kicked the suitcase and picked it up, and got off the bus once and for all.
I walked over to the streetlight and angrily leafed through Aiby’s diary, looking for a clue.
I recalled the riddle she’d left me: The trials to get there are three. Discouraged you mustn’t be. Only a true hero will pass and be free.
“Dang it, Aiby!” I shouted, thumbing through the diary. “What does that mean? What trials? What does it all mean?”
I shoved the diary into my pocket and inspected the streetlight. It was old and made of black iron with floral designs on it. Swarms of insects spiraled around the light in humming clouds. The two roads ahead looked exactly the same.
Which way? I wondered.
I grumbled and chose a path. After walking about thirty feet, I found myself swallowed by darkness. The road wound into thick forest. I heard creaking branches and the call of an old owl. Not a single star shined in the empty sky.
It makes no sense to keep going this way without even a clue, I thought. I need to be able to see better. I need …
“Who knows what I need?” I said to myself.
I walked back to the streetlight, examined it carefully, and then sat down on the suitcase. I pulled out Aiby’s diary and read it for the umpteenth time in search of even the slightest hint. If there are three trials to overcome, why not write them down plain as day for me? I wondered. What else do I have with me?
Patches watched me hopefully. I have the sword, I thought. But that’s not exactly useful unless I want to go into that creepy forest, which I don’t. At all.
The Night Spectacles will help with walking in the dark, I thought. But what about the Transmogrifier? I could think of an animal and … do what exactly?
I opened the suitcase.
“You’re such a bully, I must say! Hot and wooly, locked away!” Angelica shrieked. I closed the suitcase and sat on it. I couldn’t deal with that maniac right then.
Thump. Thump. Thump!
Angelica flailed away inside the suitcase for quite some time. A few well-delivered blows made me jump, but I kept my weight on the suitcase until the blows grew weaker and weaker and finally ceased.
A gentle breeze stirred the trees. Patches dashed between my legs and stepped onto one of the two pathways. He growled in the direction of the forest, thought about it a moment, and then barked angrily. Satisfied with himself, he swaggered over to me as if to collect a reward.
“Well, boy?” I asked him. “What now?”
As I patted my friend, I looked up to see a figure approaching.
“Hey!” I called out to attract his attention. He was headed straight for the streetlight.
He was bald and short — he barely came up to my belly button. He wore blue overalls and a checkered shirt. His soft and rosy skin made him look somewhat like a piglet. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he dragged his feet while he walked. When he saw me, he put on a pair of round glasses and eyed me curiously. I let him examine me without saying a single word.
“Bizarre, truly bizarre,” the stranger concluded at the end of his examination. He put away his glasses without adding anything else.
“I suppose you’re in charge of this crossroads?” I asked.
“Sorry to disappoint you, my boy,” he said. “But I’m just Mr. Tommy.”
“Very well, Mr. Tommy,” I replied. “Can you tell me where we are and which direction I should take to get to … where I need to go?”
Mr. Tommy gave it a lot of thought. He quickly snatched a moth buzzing around his head, studied it with the same curious expression he had studied me with, and then released it.
“Where you need to go depends greatly on where you want to go, my boy,” he said. “But it just so happens that it’s not that easy. And it’s not easy because this riddle is a trial. Actually, it’s a full-blown literary topos.”
The Thief of Mirrors: 4 (Enchanted Emporium) Page 5