The Twistrose Key

by Tone Almhjell

  “Ready for your next round, Bonso?” Pomeroy said to the Canine. “That appetite of yours is admirable.” He nipped over to pick up the wet plate even as he waved Lin and Rufus over to a free table. “What may I get you tonight?”

  “What is the Wanderer’s Eve special?” Rufus asked, nodding at the chalkboard menu.

  “Oh, excellent choice! Au flambé with a tail of chocolate-dipped strawberries and whipped cream. Mulled cider on the side. I guarantee you’ll love it!”

  The hamster skipped behind the counter and poured spluttering batter into the irons. Rufus leaned forward and spoke in a low voice.

  “I bet my tail Pomeroy thought you were Isvan, and that he knows something. We’d better ask when the other customers aren’t listening.”

  The door opened again, and in came a gray dog with big, pricked-up ears and a frayed shoulder bag. More than anything, she resembled a wolf.

  “Why, there you are, brave gatherer!” cried Pomeroy. “I was beginning to wonder if the woods had eaten you!”

  The Canine put her paw up. “No chatter, Rodent. I just want some waffles.”

  Pomeroy laughed, undaunted. “The usual?”

  The dog squinted around the room, daring anyone to speak to her. When she saw Lin, her hackles rose.

  “Everything all right there, Lass?” Rufus said.

  After a moment, Lass relaxed her stance. “My apologies. I mistook your friend for someone else. I thought it was Isvan, that cold little mongrel.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Rufus muttered under his breath. He pulled out a chair. “No, she’s just a fresher. Come sit with us. What do you mean, cold mongrel? Isvan’s a sweet lad, isn’t he?”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” the dog grumbled as Pomeroy placed their drinks on the table. “You haven’t been robbed blind! I caught him in my own barn, rifling through my gatherer’s gear. When he saw me, he hurtled himself over the fence. No one with a clear conscience climbs like that.”

  She squinted into Lin’s hood. Lin ducked and sipped her cider.

  “I disturbed him before he could steal anything,” Lass continued. “But the next morning, I couldn’t find my ice ax. I just know that he came back and took it. It was a special ax, too, carved and engraved like nothing you’ve ever seen. Almost cost me my life.” She lifted her right paw. Half the toes were gone, as if they had been chewed off, leaving only knobby scars. “Nightmares.”

  Lin spluttered cider on the table. There were Nightmares in Sylver after all? Rufus had said they couldn’t cross the border.

  “You haven’t told her about our neighbors yet?” Lass smirked as Rufus patted Lin’s back. “I don’t think gathering will be for you, little fresher. The Winterwoods have many treasures to offer, but it’s not a job for quiver-tails.”

  “Nightmares attacked you? Here in Sylver?” Rufus raised his eyebrows.

  “Of course not,” Lass said. “Don’t worry, little fresher. As long as you’re inside the Palisade of Thorns, the Nightmares can’t touch you. No, this happened outside the Palisade, on the Cracklemoor. I found the ax stuck in the carcass of a rimedeer on the slopes of the Towerhorns, near the Crackle Creek Spring. And a good thing, too, because moments later, the monsters jumped me. They chased me all the way back to the Palisade. I would never have made it without that ax. It was so sharp and well balanced, it almost fought them on its own.”

  “You’ve been outside the Palisade?” Rufus twirled his whiskers. “I thought the gatherers didn’t go there.”

  “We don’t. But the woods have been unusually stingy this year. Either that or someone is picking all my trees clean right under my snout. I haven’t been able to deliver half my orders of silvercones, so I wanted to see what I could find out on the moor. The Nightmares are worse than they sound, though. I don’t reckon I’m going out there again. Not without my ice ax, anyway.”

  “And you’re certain Isvan took it?”

  “Sure as bone. I made the mistake of showing it to him last summer, and he almost wouldn’t give it back. He has been trying to get his hands on it ever since, hooting and wailing like a fresh puppy.”

  “It’s not his fault he can’t talk,” Rufus said. “Maybe he just wanted to compliment it.”

  Lass scoffed. “Oh, no. I heard that he’s been sneaking around a lot, climbing into attics and stealing into backyards. Young Nit at the Machine Vault says Isvan caused a scene there, too.” She nodded darkly to herself. “I suppose that’s how it is, when you don’t have a soul, just a frozen ball.”

  Lin had no idea what Isvan had been up to, but she had been in Isvan’s room, and she knew he had a soul. Besides, with Niklas she had done a fair share of sneaking around in old barns herself, not to mention apple stealing.

  Pomeroy came over with their waffles. They were warm and soft on the inside and perfectly crisp on the outside, and the berries tasted just as sweet as the ones Grandma Alma grew in the garden. Lin chewed slowly so they would last as long as possible. Rufus turned his waffles around and around in his hands, nibbling at the edge until there was nothing left and his whiskers were full of whipped cream. Pomeroy watched them smugly.

  “Good, aren’t they? It’s the vanilla, a secret I picked up from my dear Dorret. Never was there a child who loved waffles more. But listen! Here comes another patron!”

  He sprang over to the door and opened it. A cold gust blew into the café as the new guest stepped over the threshold. Lin stopped chewing in the middle of a mouthful.

  “Figenskar!” Pomeroy said. “The chief observer himself! What a delightful surprise! Do come in!”

  The cat ignored him and slid through the door. As he removed his triangular hat, Figenskar swept the room with his yellow eyes. They snagged slightly on Lin. He ordered lemon waffles, sat down at the table closest to the door, and put his boots up.

  Lass received and finished her waffles. The cider dregs dried in the bottom of their mugs. One by one, the guests left, except Lin, Rufus, and Figenskar. Under her chaperon, Lin sweated in the steamy room, and her hands were damp inside the mittens.

  At last Pomeroy spoke up. “You must excuse me, dear guests,” he said. “I have to go set up my waffle stand for the feast tonight.”

  Figenskar stretched and pushed away his untouched plate. As Lin and Rufus got to their feet, he stood up slowly. Pomeroy gave a little squeal.

  “Great cheek pouch,” he said. “I plum forgot your to-go order, Rufus. If you’ll stay behind a moment, I’ll just wrap it up for you.”

  Figenskar put his hat on and floated toward the door. Before he left, he cast a glance over his shoulder, pupils glowing in the shadow of his brim. Rufus waited until the door was firmly shut before he whistled between his teeth.

  “I thought he would never leave.”

  “So did I,” Pomeroy said. His bubbly demeanor was gone. “You’re here because of Isvan, I presume. About time. It’s been forever since I left a message at the House that he was gone.”

  “Uh, of course,” Rufus said. “The message. Right. When did you see Isvan last?”

  “Five weeks ago. October third. I already said so in the message.”

  “You know how the House is, they don’t let everybody read the documents,” Rufus said. “October third was the day before I came here.”

  “It’s just so unlike him,” the hamster said, wiping his hands on his apron. “Isvan is the only person I know who loves waffles more than I do. Since I opened the Waffleheart three years ago, he’s been here every single day. I even set up a special table for him outside so the heat wouldn’t hurt him. He always has at least two rounds of cold waffles heaped with sugar. I think the sugar crystals remind him of his mother’s cooking, you understand. So sad. But what boy could get over losing his mother?”

  “Where did she go?” Rufus asked. “Did she die?”

  Pomeroy puffed his cheeks
out. “No one knows. There was a terrible storm around the time she went missing, and many thought the weather caught her. I was a fresher myself back then, and I can still remember how the snow clearers struggled to keep the streets open. But I also remember Clariselyn. People said she was the most powerful Winterfyrst Sylver had seen in ages. That lady wouldn’t have gotten herself lost in a blizzard, no matter how furious. So I think something else must have happened to her. Isvan was only four.”

  “Poor lad,” Rufus said.

  “And to make things worse, he didn’t have his Ice Mask yet. When they’re born, Winterfyrsts can neither speak our tongue nor tolerate warm temperatures, and they can’t control their cold so they’re safe to be around. They must wait to be a part of the warm-blooded world until they’re old enough for an Ice Mask, a magical shield that keeps the cold in and the heat out. Clariselyn was supposed to create Isvan’s mask the week after she went missing. I remember this, too, because it was my first ever waffle order. One hundred hearts for the Ice Mask feast.” Pomeroy sighed. “Canceled, of course. No one knew how to make the mask except Clariselyn. And without it, Isvan had to stay out in the cold, alone most of the time.”

  “I’m sure he had someone,” Rufus said. “Teodor, or . . .”

  “Teodor, certainly. He is Isvan’s guardian, and guard him he does, as if the boy would melt at a kind word. They visit my café together sometimes, but I have the feeling Teodor doesn’t like it much. I think they had a bit of a falling out last summer, because these past few months, Isvan always came without him.”

  “Did you ask him about it?” Rufus said. “I know he couldn’t talk, but he could read and write.”

  Pomeroy shook his head sadly, and all his chins wobbled. “I was always too busy to sit down and chat. The last time I saw him, I think he did want to tell me something. But it was October third, the gatherers’ annual waffle tea, and I had a stack of orders, and Isvan just kept ordering more and more. Fifteen rounds! I’m afraid it rather frazzled me. I hope I didn’t scare him away with my rash words . . .”

  The hamster untied his apron and used it to dab his cheeks. “I can’t bear the thought of him all alone and hungry. . . .”

  Rufus patted him on the arm. The creamy fur billowed softly.

  “I’m pretty sure you’re not to blame for this, Pomeroy. But do you think Isvan felt threatened by something? Or someone?”

  Pomeroy blinked. “Threatened? No, I . . . He did leave as soon as he saw the gatherers on the other side of the park that day, but . . . Who would threaten a Winterfyrst?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Rufus said. “One more thing, Pomeroy. When you went to the House, whom did you see? Sometimes messages get lost.”

  “I talked to Teodor himself. He said he would handle it personally.” Pomeroy’s tears welled up again. “It’s Wanderer’s Eve. Isvan should be here for the feast. He would if he could. Wouldn’t he?”

  • • •

  As the hamster closed the door behind them, Rufus muttered, “Handle it personally. I wonder if he even told anyone else.”

  Lin opened her cardigan, letting the blissfully cold air in. “Teodor did say that he’s tried to keep things quiet so the Sylverings wouldn’t be upset.”

  Rufus made a rough sound in his throat. “Pomeroy is already upset, and he’s a Sylvering. No. The old fox is up to something here.”

  “Maybe this has something to do with that letter we found in Isvan’s pillow,” Lin said. “Pomeroy thought Isvan and Teodor had quarreled last summer, and Teodor wrote the letter in July. We should ask him about it.”

  “No.” Rufus kicked a lump of ice along the street. “Let’s not reveal that we found that just yet. Let’s follow our other leads first.”

  “All right. There is that place where Isvan had caused a scene.”

  “The Machine Vault,” Rufus said, cocking his head. “Yes! I’ve wanted to inspect that thing for a long time now.”

  “What thing?”

  “The Machine. You know those strawberries we just had? And remember those sacks of china shards that Ursa Minor carried off? If something gets broken or left over, you can deliver it to the vault, where it’s fed to the Machine and rebuilt into new things. Cardamom or silk or fresh berries—just about anything.”

  “That sounds incredible,” Lin said. “Too incredible. How can a machine make fresh berries out of china pots?”

  “I don’t know. But I do know that Teodor doesn’t care for it. I overheard him complaining that it’s too dangerous.”

  Lin nodded. If Isvan had visited the Machine Vault to get something, it might be a valuable clue. And if the quiet, careful Winterfyrst had caused a scene, they should try to find out why. “Let’s go there.”

  “This way,” Rufus said, rustling his map. “Hey, this park is all wrong. Remind me to fix that, will you?” Lin was about to follow when she stumbled against a small, snow-covered table by the steps. There was only one chair next to it. It must be Isvan’s.

  She hesitated. It worried her that Isvan had run away at the sight of the gatherers. Had he really stolen the ice ax? And why had he ordered so many waffles?

  “Come on!” Rufus called. He was already halfway through the park.

  Lin hurried after him.

  None of them noticed the fresh tracks that led from the Waffleheart’s steps and stopped beneath the golden writing on the window. There, someone had rubbed the frost off the pane in a small, eye-sized circle, before continuing into the darkness of the backyard.

  The tracks were pointy, with hard, heavy heels.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Machine Vault lay deep beneath one of the storage barns in the central and straight-lined neighborhood of Heartworth. Above the barn roof and a ways off rose the slender, white tower that Rufus called the belfry, and Lin could hear the hum of many voices coming from the glow of the Great Square. But they weren’t headed for the light and music. Instead they passed under a big, black cogwheel and down into a clanging stairwell of metal and echoes. The rusty wall had vents that oozed out a sickly sweet stench.

  “Ugh! That’s disgusting,” she said, hiding her nose in her mitten.

  “It smells like scorched caramel,” Rufus said.

  “Not to me.” Lin’s belly churned. Maybe she just felt queasy after the heat of the Waffleheart, but she definitely did not like this place.

  The room at the bottom of the stairwell was brightly lit, with a polished counter and shelves of leather-bound books. But the air was hot and oppressive, and the smell lingered in the room like stale pipe tobacco. Lin shuddered. She could only imagine how uncomfortable Isvan must have felt down here.

  “Good evening,” Rufus said, and stepped up to the gray mouse who sat bent over a ledger. His tall, vaulted forehead gave him a look of continuous surprise that widened into worry when he saw the hooded figure of Lin.

  “Good evening,” said the mouse in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper. The sign on the counter said CALCULATION CLERK and beneath, someone had neatly taped a strip of paper that said NIT.

  “My name is Rufus, and I work at the House. I wonder if I could take a peek at your records for September and October. You do keep records around here?”

  “Yes,” Nit said, glancing at a metal door that led from the office. “I keep lists of all requests and deliveries. But I’m not sure Mrs. Zarka would approve if I showed them to you.”

  “Oh, she won’t mind when it’s House business,” Rufus said. “There’s nothing suspicious in your books, is there?”

  “No, of course not,” Nit said. He cleared his throat and started leafing through the ledger. “Pomeroy asked for strawberries and vanilla pods. Puskas asked for gold leaf. Ingebrikt asked for an ebony chess piece . . .”

  He listed all the requests that had come in, but none of them had been made by Isvan. Rufus drummed his fingers o
n the counter. “You’re sure that’s all there is?”

  Nit nodded quickly.

  Lin pinched Rufus on the upper arm, three times in a row. The triple pinch was a signal she and Niklas used when they needed to stay silent: go further, search harder, there’s something there. Right now, she was sure the little calculation clerk was lying.

  Rufus hadn’t forgotten the signal. He stiffened for a moment, then pried the ledger gently out of Nit’s paws.

  “May I?”

  Nit pursed his lips, but he didn’t object.

  They skimmed column after column of Nit’s even handwriting. There! Between the twenty-eighth and the thirtieth of September, a page had been very carefully cut out.

  “What happened to the twenty-ninth?” Rufus asked.

  “Nothing.” Nit took the ledger back and closed it. He looked frightened.

  “You’re not in any trouble,” Rufus said. “We’re just trying to find someone. Maybe you know him? It’s the young Winterfyrst, Isvan.”

  Suddenly the metal door slammed open and a stench belched out from the room beyond. On the threshold stood a speckled owl with green eyes the size of saucers. She wore a black cogwheel on a chain around her neck, and when she lifted it to her eye, Lin realized that it was a monocle.

  “Isvan!” the owl wheezed. “How good of you to finally drop by.” She advanced toward Lin, feathers rising. “We should start taking your measures immediately.” Her beak was stained by something black and sticky, and her breath stank of putrid candy as she nipped and pulled at Lin’s chaperon.

  “Stop that!” Rufus cried, wedging in between them. “This isn’t Isvan!”

  Mrs. Zarka paused. “Excuse me?”

  “She’s a fresher,” Rufus said. “Just arrived tonight. I’m showing her around.”