With that, he made one of his perfect three-point landings, twitched his tail, and stalked toward mom and Aunt Fiona with a hearty, “Fiona! You get more beautiful every day!”
I followed, smiling at him fondly. Loveable old rascal.
10
Mom and Aunt Fiona looked up when the gate hinges creaked. My aunt stood, brushed the dirt off her gloves, and approached me with open arms.
“Jinx! Festus!” she called out. “Come play in the dirt with us!”
Nothing would have pleased me more. I think you have to be grown up to appreciate the uncomplicated pleasure of a good mud pie. Unfortunately, Furl's information about the Fae hit man made talking with Barnaby even more important.
“I can’t, Aunt Fiona,” I said. “I have to find Barnaby. Did Mom tell you what happened in Briar Hollow?”
“Good heavens, yes,” Aunt Fiona said. “Old Fish Pike was several sandwiches shy of a picnic, honey. Lord only knows what he got himself into.”
“He got himself into being dead, Fiona,” Festus said, examining the holes in the flower bed. He opened his mouth, inhaled and backed away. "By the Great Cat!" he wheezed. "That reeks! Are you putting unicorn crap in there?”
“I am,” Fiona said happily. “I shoveled it myself.”
“Then count me out on the flower planting,” he declared, sauntering over to a sun puddle and stretching luxuriantly. “My fur would smell for a month. I’ll sit over here and keep you ladies company.”
As we watched, Festus turned around three times, settled down and closed his eyes.
“Isn’t it going to be a little hard for you to keep us company through closed eyelids,” Mom observed wryly.
Festus yawned. “I’m meditating,” he said, “not sleeping.”
“And what about when the snoring starts?” I asked. “Are you going to tell us you’ll be imitating a Zen chainsaw?”
"Adenoids," Festus retorted, but I saw his whiskers twitch with suppressed laughter.
Right. I did some research on that one. Cats don’t have adenoids.
“Aren’t you supposed to place a mirror-to-mirror call to Chase?” I asked.
Festus responded with something that sounded like “later” before the aforementioned snoring started right on cue.
Mom, Aunt Fiona and I exchanged bemused looks.
“How much Litterbox Lager did he have at The Dirty Claw?” Mom asked.
“Two or three,” I answered, “just enough for him to go down for the count while I’m gone and not cause you all any trouble.”
She looked at the sleeping ginger tom with loving tolerance. "Festus isn’t any trouble," she said. “He just likes to talk tough. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Unless that fly was trying to hurt one of us.”
As I watched her face, I realized Mom was seeing the man under the fur. It occurred to me that Festus might not be the only one carting around an old crush, but I filed that thought away for future contemplation. You can only learn so much about your parents as real people before your brain goes into overload. I was already dangerously close to the red line.
I left the three of them in the garden and set out for the central square. Barnaby's office in the town hall sits on the north side of the rectangle next door to Hester McElroy's inn. The real heart of Shevington also resides in the square, the Mother Tree, a being older and wiser than Myrtle herself.
I didn't even make it to the end of the block, however, before I caught sight of a flock of six dragonlets circling in the air over the main gate. As I watched, they spread their wings and began to glide in for a landing in the one place they weren’t supposed to be — inside the wall.
Great. They were probably looking for me.
I changed my course and picked up the pace. Maybe I could get there before they got themselves into any real trouble. Dragonlets are more curious by nature than cats, and they have a wicked sense of humor. Left to their own devices, mayhem will ensue.
The first day I came to Shevington the flock spontaneously attached themselves to me. The instant I stepped through the portal, the dragonlets had dropped from the sky, landed in front of me, and bowed. Now, whenever I come to The Valley, the devoted creatures are never far away.
When the city's arched main entrance came into view, I beheld a sight that did not bode well for my winged friends. The dragonlets sat in a line on the cobblestones studiously ignoring a lecture being delivered by the Lord High Mayor himself.
Minreith, the flock leader, spotted me instantly. He craned his head up and tilted it to look past Barnaby. A happy guttural cooing echoed off the stone walls as the dragonlet's eyes glowed gold with pleasure.
No matter what mischief the dragonlets manage to perpetrate, their sheer beauty always stops me short. Those shining orbs set against Minreith’s blue and purple iridescent scales created a breathtaking image straight out of a fairy tale. The dragonlets aren't big; no larger than German Shepherds, but their size doesn't detract from their majesty.
Before I could say anything, Barnaby turned and caught sight of me as well. “Thank heavens,” he called out. “Maybe you can reason with them.”
I joined the little assemblage and regarded the dragonlets, whose heads bobbed and weaved to welcome me.
“What did they do?” I asked.
“Tell her, Minreinth,” Barnaby commanded.
Yes, I can understand them, and, no, I have no idea how.
The flock leader let out with a series of coos and chirps; all pitched at an exaggerated, reasonable tone and pace. He sounded like a kid trying to argue himself out of trouble.
That morning, Minreinth explained, Aspid "Ironweed" Istra, the fairy major in charge of the Brown Mountain Guard, invited the dragonlets to drill with his troops at dawn. Of course, they accepted in the interest of being good citizens of Shevington.
“Isn’t that kind of dangerous?” I interrupted. “Fairies are tiny compared to you all.”
Minreinth's eyes widened. He emitted a cautionary chirp emphasized with a warning shake of his head.
“Yeah, good point,” I agreed, “I better not let Aspid hear me say that. A definite case of short guy syndrome.”
Beside me, Barnaby coughed into his hand to disguise a chuckle.
I turned toward him. “What's the problem?" I asked. "Minreinth says they had fun, and no one got hurt.”
“I’m sure they did have quite an enjoyable time,” Barnaby agreed, "but the rule regarding flights over the city remains in force. The flock grew a bit . . . enthusiastic . . . with their aerial maneuvers and dived too close to the houses at that end of town. Mrs. Shinglebutter’s cow was so frightened, the poor creature won’t give milk.”
Minreinth ducked his head and scraped his talons against the paving stones. His cohorts suddenly became incredibly interested in examining the archway over their heads.
“Save it, guys,” I said. “Don’t even try to sell the innocent act. Minreinth, apologize to the Mayor.”
The dragonlet dipped his head lower and let out a mournful little wail.
“Apology accepted,” Barnaby said. “But if I may offer a suggestion? Mrs. Shinglebutter is quite fond of hollyhocks. Perhaps you and your flock could gather up a goodly number and drop them on her doorstep? The gesture will soothe her temper and save me from listening to another rant on the need for enhanced animal control measures.”
The flock wagged their heads in agreement, rising immediately into the sky and heading off on their mission to pick flowers.
“Lovely creatures when you get to know them,” Barnaby said, watching the dragonlets speed away. “Alas, some of our residents are still rather afraid of them, but I must say the dragonlets are thoroughly taken with you.”
“Animals like me,” I shrugged. “I thought it was just cats, but it looks like I have dragon mojo, too.”
“Dragonlet,” he corrected me. “The larger species is another matter altogether.”
I was willing to take his word on that one.
"In all fairness
, Barnaby," I said, "they wouldn't have been flying over the city if Ironweed hadn't invited them."
"Oh, I am quite aware of Ironweed's hand in all of this," Barnaby said. "I will be speaking with him when the patrol comes in from Brown Mountain this evening. Now, were you looking for me?"
“Yes,” I said. “I was headed for the town hall when I saw the flock coming in for a landing. I thought I better come see what they were up to.”
“Well,” Barnaby said, gesturing down the High Street, “why don’t you walk back to the square with me, and we can talk?”
As we fell into step beside one another, Barnaby said, in a neutral tone, “I was surprised when you didn’t come with Chase and Festus yesterday to deliver the news about the discovery of Fish Pike’s body.”
Just the opening I needed.
“I know I should have been with them,” I said, “but we have a situation back in the store Chase doesn't know about. I needed to help Tori with something, and now we need your help.”
Barnaby stopped and turned toward me. "Does this have to do with Pike’s murder?"
“I honestly don’t know,” I admitted. “I think there’s . . . ”
At the sound of approaching voices, I stopped and glanced over my shoulder. "Uh, can we go someplace private?" I asked.
Barnaby drew his brows together, perplexed by my request. “We closed a section of the upper wall for replanting,” he said. “It won't reopen until this afternoon. We can go there."
I followed him a few yards down the street to a set of stone stairs barred by a chain. Barnaby undid the catch and held the barrier aside for me, fastening it again as I passed.
The top of the protective wall encircling the city houses lush elevated gardens that form a kind of promenade. Whenever Chase and I are in Shevington in the evening, we like to walk up there and find some secluded spot to . . . talk.
Barnaby and I emerged on a long straight section of the wall where newly mulched beds held a variety of gaily colored flowers.
“Please,” Barnaby said, gesturing toward one of the ornate iron benches.
When we were settled, I took a deep breath and started talking. First, I described the discovery of Fish Pike's body from my point of view and ended by relating everything Furl told us at The Dirty Claw.
"And Furl will be appraising the Registry?" Barnaby asked.
"Yes," I said, "but not for a few hours. Festus wanted to give Chase the information first, and I wanted to talk to you."
"Where is Festus now?"
"The last time I saw him, he was asleep in a sun puddle in Aunt Fiona's garden," I said.
"Good," Barnaby said. "When we are done here, I will accompany you to your aunt's and have a word with him. But I think perhaps you have more to tell me?"
Oh, yeah. There was definitely more.
Barnaby didn’t interrupt my account of Myrtle's actions, but his expression grew steadily more intent. At the mention of the chessboard, he stiffened, but still said nothing.
When I finished, Barnaby said, “Describe this chessboard to me.”
"I can do better than that," I replied, taking my phone out of my pocket. “I’ll show it to you.”
That morning Tori suggested I make a brief video of the chess set.
To my surprise, Barnaby touched the phone's screen, paused the video, and expanded the image with his fingers. He must have seen the look on my face because he laughed.
"I told you that I make occasional forays into your world," he said. "From what I have been able to observe, it is no longer possible for people to function without one of these devices."
"Not really," I admitted.
"I find them highly useful," Barnaby said, going back to studying the screen.
"So is there something unusual about the chess board?" I asked.
"Perhaps," he said, "but before I offer an opinion one way or another, I want to discuss the matter with Moira."
He reached into the breast pocket of his coat and took out a polished block of quartz crystal. Placing my phone and the stone on the bench beside one another, Barnaby gently swept his hand over both. As I watched, the frames of the video floated up from the phone liked stacked playing cards and neatly disappeared into the quartz.
"Whoa!" I said. "What is that thing?"
I’ve learned that wizards and alchemists aren’t all that different from fishermen. They love to tell the story about “landing the big one.” In a magical sense, their newest spell or experiment constitutes the catch of the day — and they always pretend to be humble about their accomplishment.
"This?" Barnaby asked, doing a lousy job of downplaying his enthusiasm. "A mere enchantment I designed after first encountering one of your ‘smartphones,’"
"It doesn't look so 'mere' to me," I said. "That is seriously cool."
"Thank you," Barnaby said. "I was intrigued by the ability to capture and access information in such a compact, efficient form. I did make a few design improvements on the concept."
He was dying for me to ask, so I did.
"Like what?"
"Oh, minor things," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. "I removed the need for a power source, created infinite memory, and made the stone self-aware."
Minor things? Apple would sell its soul for the battery life alone.
"What do you mean self-aware?" I asked.
"Allow me to demonstrate," Barnaby said.
Addressing the crystal, he said, "Vicus, would you mind replaying that series of images you just collected?"
"It would be my pleasure, sir," the stone replied.
A beam of light emanated from the center of the quartz and my video began to play in midair like a hologram.
"Wow," I said. "Move over, Siri."
"Indeed," Barnaby grinned. "And Vicus has a much more pleasant disposition than the spirit that animates the iPhone."
"Thank you, sir," Vicus answered.
The dang rock actually managed to sound embarrassed.
"You're quite welcome," Barnaby said. "That will be all for now."
The hologram shut off and Barnaby returned the stone to his pocket.
"So, after you and Moira look at the video together do you think you'll be able to tell us what's going on with the chess set and explain Myrtle's weird behavior?" I asked.
Barnaby leaned back against the bench and gazed over the wall toward the distant mountains. "I have known the aos si for centuries," he said thoughtfully. "The things you are telling me trouble me deeply. Myrtle should have known of Brenna Sinclair’s presence. But that is not the most disturbing aspect of that series of events."
"It’s not? I said.
"No," Barnaby replied, shaking his head. "Myrtle never told Moira or myself about her inability to detect the sorceress. It is not like the aos si to fail to be . . . forthcoming."
To my ears that was a fancy way of not using the word "lie," but I didn't say that to Barnaby. It was one thing for my faith in Myrtle to be shaken, but the implications of such a possibility for Barnaby were far greater.
"When are you planning to speak with Moira?" I asked.
"As soon as she and Myrtle return from the high valley," he replied.
“Oh,” I said, “that’s right. What are they doing, anyway? Something with seawater?”
“Yes,” Barnaby said. “We have been approached about offering sanctuary to some of the sea folk. Merpeople in particular. Myrtle and Moira have an idea about creating a habitat for them. They’re considering a location today. When Myrtle returns to your time stream, I will speak with Moira. She may have observed something unusual today with the aos si without realizing it.”
“What do you want me to do?” I asked.
“Nothing for the present,” he said, “but heed Colonel Longworth’s advice. Do not speak openly in the presence of that gameboard.”
"That's it?"
My face must have betrayed my disappointment because Barnaby smiled at me kindly. “You were hoping I would have an instant answer
for you, weren't you?” he asked.
I nodded, a lump rising in my throat. “I don’t want there to be something wrong with Myrtle,” I said, my voice breaking. "And I don't want Chase to be in danger."
"Nor does he want your life to be at peril," Barnaby said gently. "Did the two of you speak after he returned to Briar Hollow?"
I shook my head.
"Ah," he said. "I thought not. Chase was disturbed that you had quarreled, but he can also be quite stubborn when he thinks he is in the right."
Getting relationship advice from Barnaby hadn't been part of the plan. "I'm sorry," I said, wiping at my eyes. "This isn't something I should be bothering you about."
"You forget that I was married once," he said. "My wife had a rule. We did not allow the sun to go down on our anger. I understand why you didn't tell Chase about the events with the chessboard, especially after he discovered Pike's body, but I think you should tell him now, for both of your sakes."
I didn't really need anyone's permission to tell Chase anything, but Barnaby's words made me feel enormously better. "I will," I said, "just as soon as we get back."
"Excellent," Barnaby said. "Now, it's a beautiful day. I think we should take a few moments to enjoy it with a tonic that will set your mind right if only for the time being.”
“Tonic?” I asked suspiciously.
“Oh, yes,” he intoned solemnly, standing and offering me his arm, “a magical elixir from Ethiopia . . . coffee.”
Finally, some magic I did understand!
11
A Cabin High in the Mountains
The sound of the steel blades rhythmically sliding along the diamond grit arms of the sharpener calmed and focused his mind. A master craftsman takes care of his tools. Twenty strokes on each side of ten talons. Forty strokes per blade. Two hundred strokes per hand; four hundred for the full set. A mantra for razor precision.
The heavy gloves lay nearby on the makeshift table, newly cleaned with Pecard leather dressing. A master falconer taught him that trick. It would never do to leave bits of blood and meat in the seams and crevices of the gauntlets.
Witch on First: A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 4 (The Jinx Hamilton Novels) Page 10