Hobgoblin Night: Mask and Dagger 2

by Teresa Edgerton

  "My dear Jedidiah," said Mr. Jonas, as they went in at the cottage gate and climbed the steps, "if he knew what we have discovered, your Mr. Owlfeather must agree that what you do here to assist me is so highly instrumental to the Guild—and therefore, indirectly, to Mr. Owlfeather—that it far outweighs anything he asked you to do before you left Thornburg."

  "Aye, maybe," said Jed, standing in the moonlight before the door, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. He wanted desperately to stay and see the whole thing through, to satisfy the lively curiosity aroused by the map and the secret writing. For a long minute, that intense desire to remain warred with a miserably guilty sense that he ought to move on.

  "I believe you are right, sir," he said at last. "If the need should arise, we can always send Elsie and Sera on ahead. But my place, at least for now, must be with you."

  ***

  At Mothgreen Hall Sera prepared for bed, in a highly unsettled state of mind. Efforts by the ghostly Izrael Barebones—or someone—to establish some form of contact had begun to amount to virtual persecution.

  She covered her looking glass with a scrap of cloth, lest any more mysterious handwriting appear; she dusted the latest sprinkling of garden soil (or grave dust, as Miss Barebones continued to call it) off of her quilt; and looked under her pillow to see what offering Uncle Izrael had been pleased to bestow on her tonight. With a grimace, she removed a handful of damp tea leaves and tossed them out the window.

  If ever I discover which of the children is responsible for all this . . . ! Privately, Sera suspected the energetic Luella Battersby and her mischievous friend Patience Armitage, but she had a strong sense of justice and was therefore reluctant to accuse either girl without any proof.

  Someone tapped softly, the door opened, and Elsie tiptoed into the room in her white flannel nightgown. Then she stopped and gazed down at the floor when her bare feet touched the grit on the boards.

  "Oh, my poor Sera . . . not more dirt?" she exclaimed softly, so as not to disturb the children sleeping just down the hall. "I do wish that Uncle Izrael were more tidy in his habits!"

  Sera eyed her warily. "I suppose you find this vastly amusing. Perhaps if we changed rooms for the night and you were the one to wake up in the morning with dust and gravel in your bed, or snuff scattered between your sheets . . . !"

  "Well, we can try that, if you like, but I doubt it would do any good," said Elsie, sitting down on the foot of the bed. "And really, you know, it is to some extent your own fault. Uncle Izrael was content to ply you with old books and gloves and other agreeable items, until you took to burning all of his offerings.

  "Now what is this?" she innocently asked, bending down and scooping something up off the floor.

  It was a pocket watch of antique design, with a gold ormolu cover. Elsie turned the watch over and read aloud the name inscribed on the case. " 'Izrael Falconer Barebones.' Now, I suppose, you mean to have it melted down," she said, with dancing eyes.

  Sera deposited herself on the bed beside Elsie, flouncing a little to spread out her petticoats. "Did you come in here merely to gloat over my misfortunes?"

  Elsie laughed merrily. "You are a little melodramatic, are you not? I'm sure that if you had any genuine misfortunes, I should be the last to gloat. No," she said, growing suddenly sober. "I have come for another reason entirely."

  She thought for a moment, and then asked wistfully, "Sera, do you think that Jed will ever ask me to marry him?"

  "No," Sera replied bluntly. "I don't believe that he ever will. Not that he doesn't love you, for I am certain that he does! It is just that Jed is too ridiculously humble and modest to put himself forward." Sera hesitated, knotting her fingers in her lap. "The real question, my dear, is how much you love Jed."

  Elsie blinked at her indignantly. "Oh, my dear, need you ask? I always liked Jed better than any of the gentlemen I knew. Because—because all of them were so very affected, and Jed was always just himself, so big, and warm, and kindhearted. You remember, for you despised those men, too. They cared for nothing but the cut of their coats and the polish on their boots and—" Elsie stopped, clapped her hand to her mouth.

  "Dear Sera," she said penitently. "You know I did not mean Lord Skelbrooke. Of course he was always beautifully dressed and such lovely manners, but there were so many other things that he—"

  "Yes indeed," said Sera tartly. "Like cozening the Duchess and stealing her parchment, and running from one end of Euterpe to the other on his mysterious errands—which even his friend Mr. Budge could not but deplore—not to mention imposing on people under so many false names. Whatever it was that recommended him to my affections, it was never his virtues!"

  "Well then," said Elsie reasonably. "What did recommend him to your affections?"

  "I am sure I don't know," said Sera, unfolding her hands and staring down at them. Then she shrugged and gave an irritated little laugh. "Most likely a revolt against Reason, for I cannot think of any other excuse for it! But we were speaking of you and Jed. If you do love him, you had better tell him so and ask him to marry you. You'll never marry him else!"

  "Oh," said Elsie, turning pink at the thought. "I don't think that I could ever do that. That would be so dreadfully forward and immodest on my part. I fear that Jed would be very much shocked."

  "In all probability he would be," Sera agreed. "For with all his other virtues, he can also be most abominably straight-laced. I suppose he feels that he has to be, to make up for everything: and the years he spent dragging bodies out of the river and living on grave offerings. But if he is shocked, he will soon get over it. And he loves you far too well to think ill of you, even for an instant."

  She took Elsie by the hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. "I believe, my dear, that you must eventually decide what really matters to you: marrying Jed, or preserving your maiden modesty."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Wherein many Curious matters are Brought to Light.

  The elaborate device over which Jedidiah and Sammuel Jonas had labored for so many weeks now stood complete: a wonder to those few who had been privileged to view it, a bafflement to all but Jed and the gnome. It was an impressive structure with its bronze mirrors, lead weights, ashwood and blued-steel gears, immense magnets, and shimmering coils of silvered glass. A system of disks made of zinc and silver, sandwiched between layers of felt soaked in brine, created a mysterious electrical charge when connected by a copper wire, and more wires conducted that charge to the mirrors, and from there to the magnets. Hoses made of waxed canvas and a complicated system of brass tubing carried a fluid embryonated sulphur (an "animating principle") to all parts of the machine. But Jed and the gnome had also found the time to add some decorative touches: brass gargoyles on all four corners, clawed iron feet that also lent the framework stability, and at the top, a weathervane in the form of a winged Fate, cast in pewter.

  In light of Captain Hornbeam's difficulties getting his ship together and signing up a likely crew, it was not possible to sail, as originally planned, before the next full moon. So Jed and Mr. Jonas, at distinctly loose ends, looked around them for some other means to productively pass their time.

  "We might try to search out Mr. Izrael Barebones's Panterran ruins," Jed suggested one day. "He described them in such detail, I cannot believe it was all a romance! No use asking Mr. Herring or any of the other Glassmakers, for we've questioned them again and again. But somebody, somewhere in the town, ought to recognize the spot."

  Accordingly, they armed themselves with some sketches and diagrams they had made from Mr. Barebones's careful descriptions, and went about the town, displaying the sketches and asking questions, making a particular effort to seek out all the oldest citizens. Visits to half a dozen elderly ladies on the first day yielded only the most discouraging results. Jed and the gnome fairly sloshed with all of the tea they had been obliged to consume, but the ladies knew nothing at all about Panterran ruins or artifacts. But on the second day they stopped t
o talk with an ancient farrier, who sat out on a bench in front of his grandson's forge, where he could enjoy the afternoon sunshine and also a keep a sharp eye on the activities of all his neighbors.

  He listened as Jed read from the Barebones papers, allowed Mr. Jonas to show him the sketches, then scratched his head and declared: "Sounds to me as though you're talking about them fancy floors in the old chapel on the hill."

  "The old chapel?" said Mr. Jonas.

  "The chapel up to the sailor's cemetery on Spyglass Hill," said the farrier. "The roof fell in during the great quake—when was that?—it must of been sixty years ago, and the sea came up over the wall until we thought the whole town would drownt. I don't reckon there's many alive now, excepting some of them dwarfs on the other side of town, as was alive then . . . and what business have dwarves with ships and seafaring men?"

  Jed and the gnome exchanged an eager glance, but Mr. Jonas only replied, calmly and politely, that he often wondered as much himself. But to return to the chapel . . . ?

  The farrier took a long-stemmed clay pipe out of his coat pocket and stuck it between his teeth. "I went up to the chapel when I was just a lad, and a sailor uncle of mine died and was buried on the hill. I don’t remember much about the service, but I remember how I admired them pictures on the floor. I asked my granddad how it was they could afford them pretty tile floors—what do you call 'em? Mosaics, you say? Yes, I believe I heard that word afore. I asked how they could afford them pretty mosaics floors, a little church like that, and the congregation just simple folks."

  "And how did your grandfather reply?" Mr. Jonas prompted him, with just the barest tinge of impatience, when he showed no signs of continuing.

  The farrier shifted about on his bench. "Granddad said them floors was a pagan relic, left there by heathen savages hundreds of years ago. And sailors being more than half heathen (as the saying goes), he reckoned they didn't see any harm making use of them fine floors when they built their chapel."

  He smoked for a while, with a meditative look on his weathered face. "I don't know about them other things you asked about, though."

  But he had said quite enough to fire Jed and Mr. Jonas with a strong desire to see the tiles for themselves. "They may be buried deep, under all that rubble at the top of the hill, and we may have to do as much lifting as digging," said Mr. Jonas. "Perhaps we ought to hire some laborers to assist us."

  The very next morning they climbed up the hill to the old graveyard, accompanied by two able-bodied workmen carrying picks and shovels. Jed had dressed for the occasion in dark breeches, a pair of high boots, and a worn blue coat, which, along with his customary brown pigtail, gave him a distinctly nautical air. Altogether, he looked like a sprucer version of the old Jedidiah, who used to work on the river Lunn with his Uncle Caleb, before the dwarves took him up and made him into a gentleman. Over one shoulder he carried a spade.

  Mr. Jonas, too, had donned an old suit of clothes, but he walked barefoot and carried a picnic basket instead of a spade. His broad feet with their formidable talons were beautifully designed for digging.

  They had no difficulty locating the ruins of the chapel and set straight to work excavating. It was a hard, dirty, backbreaking labor, and it lasted for several days before they were able to uncover even a very small corner of mosaic floor.

  The workmen stepped back while Mr. Jonas stooped down and brushed off the last of the loose dirt, and then washed off the tiles with a scrub brush and some soapy water. It was only a bit of border, a design of gold stars and fiery-headed silver comets on a rich blue background, but Jed was fairly flabbergasted by the astonishing brilliant colors.

  "Indeed," said the imperturbable Mr. Jonas. "Remarkably well preserved, considering these tiles may be as much as three thousand years old. But really, the Panterrans and the Evanthians were capable of the most amazing things. We know they were a race of great magicians and philosophers—the Panterrans tending more toward Chemeia and natural philosophy, as the Evanthians devoted themselves principally to sorceries. Our own Glassmakers and Spagyric alchemists have built their entire traditions on the merest scraps and gleanings from the ancient Panterran mysteries, while the Scolectics and the Mezztopholeean brotherhoods claim to model their rituals after the dark rites of Evanthum."

  Highly elated by this discovery, they continued digging. In the meantime, their activities caused a flurry of comment down in the town. And when word reached Mothgreen Academy, Miss Jamaica Barebones was most particularly intrigued, for that lady could always be counted upon to take a lively interest in anything even remotely connected with her late Uncle Izrael.

  Now it happened that Tuesdays at the Academy were usually devoted to religious instruction (Sera and Miss Eglantine, acting in concert), tatting and knitted lace (Elsie and the headmistress), and foreign languages (Miss Fitch), but on the Monday night, Miss Barebones declared that this Tuesday would be a holiday of sorts.

  "We will take a picnic lunch up to the graveyard. It should prove educational viewing the ruins, and I daresay that the girls will benefit quite as much as we will. And then we might spend the afternoon walking on the beach, collecting seashells and starfish . . . I am sure we all deserve a holiday."

  So they packed up the necessary supplies in a goat cart and set out on foot for Spyglass Hill at eleven o'clock in the morning. By the time they all arrived at the foot of the hill the girls wanted their luncheon. They had their picnic right there on the grass, then they trudged up the slope for a look at the excavation.

  When Miss Barebones caught sight of the border of stars and comets, she was virtually overcome. "Yes, yes, I remember my Uncle Izrael once described something of the sort," she said, sitting down on a pile of old stones and timbers, uncorking her salts, and taking a reviving whiff of sal volatile. She was no longer young, and though the walk into town was tolerable, her climb up the hill had been rather debilitating.

  "At the time, of course," she went on, "I did not perfectly understand what he was talking about, for I am afraid that poor dear Uncle Izrael inclined to become somewhat obscure, not to say incoherent, about any subject that truly interested him. That was one reason why people neglected to take him seriously."

  Jed did the honors, explaining that the picture they had so far uncovered appeared to be a map of the heavens. "But what is this?" asked Sera, pointing to a fanciful figure which seemed to be some kind of gondola fitted up with an enormous pair of feathered wings, sailing along among the planets and the clouds.

  "A Panterran sky-ship," said Jed very importantly. "Or so we believe. And see this over here?" He indicated another picture, this one of a great moon-colored globe caught up in a net and attached to a basket, which appeared to be some sort of conveyance filled with gleeful Panterran pleasure-seekers, heading for the outer planets. "A hot-air balloon!"

  Sera and Elsie exchanged a glance of pure astonishment. "But could they really ascend to such rarefied heights?" asked Sera.

  "So it would appear," said Mr. Jonas, with a twinkle. "Though perhaps we should make allowances for a certain amount of artistic exaggeration."

  But as might be expected, a section of tile floor about two yards square could not hold the attention of the young girls for long. They soon grew impatient to go down to the beach, which was now exposed by a low tide. Miss Eglantine and Miss Fitch offered to shepherd the girls down to the shore, so that Sera, Elsie, and Miss Barebones could observe the continued excavation.

  "But you must not allow any of them to go into the Deeping Caves, you know," Miss Barebones cautioned the two elderly schoolmistresses. "It is very easy to get lost down there, and the caverns become fearfully dangerous after the tide comes in. A number of people have drowned there. And do, do keep an especially close eye on Luella and Patience."

  "Trust me for that," said Miss Eglantine grimly, and Luella and Patience tried to look suitably demure. So the matter was arranged to everyone's satisfaction, and Miss Eglantine, Miss Fitch, and the girls departed.
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br />   The men continued on for another hour, digging, moving stones and bricks and timbers, and scraping away the dirt. Then the workers decided to take a rest, too.

  "If you like," said Jed to Elsie, as he wiped his hands clean on a scrap of old cloth and slipped into his coat, "we could go for a little stroll through the graveyard. There are a number of curious old headstones, and you might find some of the inscriptions amusing."

  "I should like that very much," said Elsie, with a quickening pulse, for it was not often, anymore, that she and Jed went walking anywhere together.

  They started off through the graveyard, with Elsie's arm tucked into Jed's. Sera and Miss Barebones were also interested in reading the inscriptions, but they wandered off in the direction of the sea, discreetly allowing the young couple a few private moments.

  Though still early in the year, the grass already grew long and green among the gravestones, and wild flowers were just beginning to appear: daisies and dandelions, clover and trumpet vine. The graveyard, decided Elsie, provided as pretty a spot for a proposal of marriage as any that she could imagine. She was conscious, too, that she appeared to advantage, in a gown of pale yellow muslin, tucked up behind to display a flowered petticoat, and a particularly fetching bonnet trimmed with pink silk roses. She hoped she was not vain, but it did rather boost her confidence, this knowledge that she was looking her best.

  "Jedidiah," she said, summoning up her courage to make a declaration. "Jed. We have been acquainted any time these seven years. For which reason, I feel certain you will forgive the familiarity, considering what old friends we are—" She stopped, suddenly out of breath, and had to compose herself before she could go on. She did not find it easy, because Jed was looking down at her with a look of painful inquiry that disconcerted her very much. "What I meant to say is, I hope you will not be shocked if I speak quite frankly—

  "Oh dear heavens!" she interrupted herself. "What is it lying over there beside that gravestone?"