Bringers of Magic (Arucadi Book 2)

by E. Rose Sabin

  Urcelle perched on the edge of the wooden chair as if she expected to be forced into sudden flight. “Miss Abigail, I’m sorry to tell you this, but it’s plain how things are here.” She spilled the words out in a nervous rush. “The school can’t go on with the loss of so many students. So I—I’ve accepted a position in the school Genevieve Wirth has started. Many of my students are already enrolled there, so I can carry on right where I left off with them.”

  Abigail felt both sorrow and relief. “It’s all right, Urcelle,” she assured the unhappy woman. “It’s the wisest course for you to take. You are correct in saying the school cannot continue. I’ve been deeply concerned about you and Corinne and Dorey. I know how dependent you are on your teaching income. I wonder whether the others might also find employment with Mistress Wirth.”

  Urcelle relaxed a bit and let her spine rest against the back of the chair. “I don’t think she has the room for the others.”

  “Well, it looks as though I’ll have to sell this place.” Abigail found it hard to speak the words. She forced them past the lump in her throat. “Maybe she’d want to buy it.”

  “It just isn’t right, Miss Abigail,” Urcelle said indignantly. “You don’t deserve this treatment. I wish there were a way to put a stop to it. We all know Edwin never did the things they’re saying he did.”

  “You can tell people that.”

  “I have, and they don’t want to listen. It makes them angry. I tried to tell Genevieve Wirth, but she said she didn’t want to hear it, and if I kept talking like that she wouldn’t hire me after all. So I daren’t say anything more.” Her gaze fell to her lap, where she twisted her hands together in distress.

  Abigail sighed. She wanted to scold Urcelle, to shake sense into her. But Urcelle was a widow with two children to support. She had to have an income. If silence was the price of putting food on her children’s plates, Abigail could hardly ask her to speak out.

  Urcelle cleared her throat. Keeping her eyes averted, she said, “Please, Miss Abigail, may I have my month’s salary today?”

  “The month isn’t over for another week,” Abigail pointed out.

  “I know. But I told Genevieve I’d start tomorrow. I’m not really needed here anymore.”

  Abigail couldn’t deny that. Nevertheless, it angered her that Urcelle hadn’t at least finished this week. It seemed odd that she would want to start her new post with only one day remaining before Freeday. But she was too depressed to argue about it.

  She opened her bottom desk drawer and reached for her cash box. A large, leather-bound book lay on top of the drawer’s other contents. Puzzled, she drew it out, wrinkling her nose at its old, musty odor. It wasn’t a ledger; she didn’t keep those in that drawer. She glanced at the title, stamped into the leather and embossed in tarnished gold. For a second she read it as an odd word—Breyadon, but then she saw that it clearly read Doors. Where had the book come from?

  A soft cough reminded her of Urcelle’s presence. She put the book aside to examine later, lifted out some papers, and withdrew the cash box. Opening it, she removed two silver triums. Slowly she dropped one trium back into the box and counted out ten copper midis instead. “I’ll have to deduct for the week you won’t be working.” She pushed the coins across the desk toward Urcelle.

  “I understand.” Urcelle gathered the coins, glanced at them, thrust them into the pocket of her skirt, and stood. “I guess it’s goodbye. I’ve enjoyed working for you. I’m sorry it’s turned out so badly.”

  Abigail only nodded, and the woman fled the office.

  After locking and replacing the cash box, Abigail turned her attention to the mysterious book. How could it have gotten into her desk? She’d never seen it before.

  She read again the single word title: Doors. It was a strange title, but sorrow weighed too heavily on her to allow room for curiosity. Only to distract her mind she opened the book and glanced at the pages.

  Spells! Magical spells! What kind of weird joke was this? Here was a spell to bring back an estranged lover. And one to cure homesickness. She might need that one soon, she thought bitterly. Another spell purported to show how to visit another dimension.

  What nonsense! She slammed the book shut and shoved it away from her. With all she had to do, it was folly to waste time on silly superstitions.

  Leah must have hidden the book here as a mischievous prank. But Abigail didn’t find it funny. She’d confront Leah with the book when she got home. Now she had to face the task of speaking to Corinne and Dorey, telling them she’d be closing the school.

  They’d already have guessed, no doubt. They must know of Urcelle’s decision. Abigail would give them the full month’s pay, though she’d denied it to Urcelle. They didn’t have other jobs to go to, and being dismissed would come as a severe blow. They’d understand she had no choice, but that wouldn’t make their lot any easier. Perhaps she could spare them an extra week’s wages. She’d have to talk that over with Leah.

  She recognized the light tap on the door as Leah’s and called to her to come in.

  “I thought you might need cheering up,” Leah said as she closed the door behind her and came around the desk to stand beside Abigail. “Urcelle told me what she’d done. I said she should have waited, seen what changes one more week might bring.”

  “No, it’s all right. She probably took the wisest course. She has to provide for her children, after all. The way things look, any change next week will be for the worse, not the better.”

  “You can’t know that.” Leah bent and kissed Abigail’s cheek. “Don’t lose hope.”

  Abigail smiled. Leah seemed always able to maintain a positive attitude. Abigail envied her that quality.

  “What’s this?” Leah asked, pointing to the spell book.

  “Mischief of yours, no doubt,” Abigail said with a chuckle. It was impossible to be angry with Leah. She’d meant the prank to raise Abigail’s spirits.

  “Of mine! Why do you say that? I never saw that book before.”

  “You’re the one so fascinated by magic. It must be your doing. Come on, confess. I don’t feel like being teased.”

  But Leah only looked bewildered. “Magic?” She picked up the book and opened it. “Why do you say that? What language is this?”

  “What do you mean, ‘what language?’” Abigail grew cross. Leah should see she had carried the joke far enough.

  “Didn’t you look at it? It’s written in some foreign language—it even has strange symbols along with the regular letters. And the title, Breyadon—what does that mean? Where did you get this book?”

  “Someone put it in my bottom desk drawer, where I was bound to find it. Who would have done that but you? What strange symbols are you talking about? I didn’t see any.”

  “Why, these.” Leah placed the open book on the desk and pointed to a word.

  “I’m in no mood for this. The word is ‘potion,’ as you can surely see. The page tells how to make a potion to cure barrenness.”

  Leah stared at her. “You can really read that weird writing? What language is it?”

  “Leah, dear, please don’t do this to me. What should it be but Arucadian?”

  “Abbie, I swear to you that book is no joke of mine. I never saw it before, and I cannot read it, and whatever that writing is, it is not Arucadian.”

  Abigail could scarcely believe that Leah insisted on continuing this charade. “This is outrageous. The book’s title is Doors, and its writing is plain.”

  “Look, Abbie, Dorey and Corinne have left, but I think Urcelle may still be here. She was cleaning out her desk and gathering her things together. Show her the book and see what she says about it. She’d have no reason to lie to you, and no reason to play a joke on you either.”

  Nodding her consent, Abigail picked up the book and followed Leah to Urcelle’s classroom. She’d have to postpone until tomorrow the talk she’d planned to have with Corinne and Dorey. It was just as well; she might be able to think more
clearly then.

  Urcelle was packing books and papers into string bags. Her startled look when they walked in told Abigail she thought they’d come to bring more bad news.

  “We need you to settle something for us, Urcelle,” Leah said briskly. She took the book from Abigail’s hands and held it out, opened, for Urcelle to see. “Tell us what you read on this page.”

  Looking puzzled and still frightened, Urcelle turned her gaze to the page. “I can’t read it,” she said. “It’s in a strange language. I don’t recognize any of the words.”

  Abigail stepped closer and peered at the page. It was perfectly clear—another ridiculous spell, this one for giving life to figures of stone or wood. “Are you telling me you can’t read these words?” She ran her index finger beneath the phrase “bring to life.”

  “No. How could I?” Urcelle asked as though dazed. “I don’t know any foreign language.”

  Abigail withdrew her hand and stepped back. “I don’t know why you two are doing this. It can’t be a joke. Are you trying to drive me mad? Haven’t I suffered enough?” She turned and rushed from the room. She would not let them see her cry.

  Leah called after her, “Abbie, wait, please.”

  She didn’t stop. Leah had conspired with Urcelle. She’d devised this trick to hurt her, to push her into madness.

  Leah’s footsteps pounded behind her. Abigail broke into a run, but she was no match for the younger woman. Leah pulled up beside her, grabbed her arm. She yanked it free, but Leah grasped a fold of her skirt and hung on.

  “Abbie, please believe me, I don’t understand this any more than you do.” Leah was crying. She clutched the spell book beneath her arm. “This book is none of my doing, Abbie. I swear it.”

  Abigail kept walking, and Leah trotted beside her, holding on to her skirt and speaking through her tears. “If you say you can read it and it looks like normal words to you, I believe you. I know you don’t lie. I don’t lie either, Abbie. Why can’t you believe me when I say I can’t read it?”

  The words twisted Abigail’s heart. How could Leah act like this and be playing her false? But if Leah and Urcelle had told the truth, and the book was not written in Arucadian, how could she read it?

  She couldn’t. She must be hallucinating. What other explanation could there be?

  “Maybe the book is magic, and somehow you have the power to read it,” Leah persisted. “Maybe it’s a gift sent to help you.”

  “No! I want no part of the accursed thing. There is no magic. Those silly tales of yours are nothing but delusions.”

  “I value your friendship too much to argue with you, Abbie. I swear I don’t know where the book came from. I’ve never seen it before, and I don’t understand its mystery. Please say you believe me.”

  Abigail stopped walking and turned to her. “I want to believe you. All right, come home. But get rid of that book first. I won’t have it in my house.”

  Leah released her grip on Abigail’s skirt, and didn’t walk on with her. Abigail marched on toward her home, too confused and hurt to look back. She didn’t want to know what Leah did with the book. It symbolized all the evil turns her life had taken in the past few days. She reached the house and went straight upstairs to her room.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  NIGHT SEARCH

  Dressed entirely in black, carrying an unlit lantern, Jerome slipped from his room and headed toward Eddie’s room, rehearsing the story he’d tell to persuade the fool to go out with him, to accompany him willingly to Abigail Dormer’s property. He intended to drown Eddie in the creek that ran along the back of that property. He’d try to make the drowning look accidental, but if suspicions arose and an investigation was launched, he’d put into effect his plan to frame Abigail.

  Thinking of the pleasure he was going to take in this night’s activities, he almost laughed aloud. While making the rounds with the searchers all afternoon, he’d had to listen to Leo Crowell whine about how he’d had to take his daughter Veronica out of the Dormer School and how angry she was about it. Crowell had enrolled the girl in Genevieve Wirth’s new school over the girl’s furious objections, and her father hoped the child wouldn’t make trouble for “poor Genevieve.” Jerome hoped that she would, and plenty of it. “Poor Genevieve” had dumped him. She deserved more grief than one nine-year-old could give her.

  The sound of a door slowly opening drove him back into the shadowy doorway of his room. He strained to see in the darkness. Someone walked softly down the hall, turned, descended the stairs. With a muttered oath Jerome followed. Before he could carry out his own plan he had to learn who was prowling around and why.

  He dared not venture onto the stairs until he heard his quarry clear them, and then he had to stay so far behind that he could not recognize the person he pursued. Not until that person left the house and reached the street where the darkness was less intense than in the house, did Jerome see that it was Simple Eddie he followed. His anger changed to delight—the simpleton was heading in the very direction Jerome wanted. The fool was cooperating in his own destruction. How good of him to make the job so easy!

  Jerome kept well back of Eddie and refrained from lighting his lantern, although it was shielded. Only as Eddie approached Abigail’s place did Jerome pause to put match to the wick. He could not hide from Eddie’s view much longer anyway; he'd have to prevent him from actually going to Abigail, if that was what he intended.

  He drew nearer as Eddie approached the house, but before he revealed his presence, Eddie paused, turned away, and headed across the field between house and school. Jerome remembered that Eddie had lived in a shack behind the school building, down by the creek. He guessed that was where the simpleton was going, perhaps to wait until morning before visiting Abigail. Better and better. Eddie was playing into Jerome’s hands as perfectly as if he were following a prepared script. Jerome dared to wonder whether his mother’s gods were blessing him. Maybe her endless devotions had at last borne fruit.

  He followed an erratic path to avoid Eddie’s notice, though the fool hadn’t looked around, hadn’t seemed to suspect that anyone might be following. When he neared the barn, he decided on a brief detour. Eddie was most likely returning to his shack; no need to keep him in sight. In the barn Jerome could find a weapon with which to dispatch him—a tool that would be traced to Abigail.

  The building wasn’t locked. He pushed the door open and went in. Directly in front of him was the carriage, with the horse stalls to his left. He walked around the right side of the carriage and spotted an array of tools hung neatly on the wall. His attention. fixed on an iron shoeing hammer, the type with the hammer at one end and a hooked hoof pick at the other. He lifted it from its rack, held it by the hook end, and tapped the hammer against his palm. Perfect!

  The noise and light disturbed the horses; they stamped and snorted, a clamor that might draw Eddie or even Abigail. He made a hasty exit, extinguishing the lantern as he left. In the dark he made his way around the side of the barn and struck out for Eddie’s shack. As he walked, he swung the hammer back and forth in front of him to be sure the path was clear. He liked its heft, its weight. It would feel good to bring it smashing down onto Simple Eddie’s skull.

  Someone was following him; Ed sensed the presence behind him. He was afraid to look to see who it might be. Whoever it was, he didn’t want to lead the person to Miss Abigail and create more problems for her. Instead of continuing straight to her house as he'd intended, he turned toward his own shack.

  As he neared it, the sense of being followed eased. The person had turned off somewhere. Maybe he was safe. He hurried inside and barred the door, then found and lit a lamp. His cot was made up with sheets and blanket the way he’d left it. He could sleep until morning, rise early, and see Miss Abigail before she went to the school.

  Oh, but he’d forgotten—tomorrow was Freeday, and school would be closed. It would be a shame to wake Miss Abigail on the one morning when she could sleep late. Maybe he should give
up the idea of seeing her and leave town right now. By daylight there would be searchers about.

  Suppose the person who’d followed him was a searcher: It wouldn’t be safe to venture outside right away. He walked around the small room gathering together a few things to take with him—a change of underwear, another shirt. He had few belongings, not much to pack. He made a knapsack from his pillowcase and stuffed into it all he wanted to take, retrieved the few coppers he’d hidden under his mattress and stuffed those into his pocket.

  Too restless to wait longer, he extinguished his lamp, eased the door open, and peered into the night. The sense of presence he’d felt earlier rushed over him. Before he could jump back inside, someone hurtled toward him. He swung his knapsack at his attacker. The bag deflected a blow. Ed dodged and ran. Footsteps pounded behind him.

  In the darkness, he reached the creek before he realized how near it was. He skidded in the mud. His attacker grabbed his arm. Dropping the knapsack, he swung around and saw the hammer descending. “No!” he shouted. “Stop!”

  The hammer struck the side of his head. With a burst of pain he lost his balance and fell backward into the creek. The icy water closed over him.

  The cold dulled the pain of the blow. He struggled up, out of the water, drew in deep breaths. Disoriented he tried to find the bank.

  “Die, damn you,” said a familiar voice. Jerome!

  Water splashed over him. Jerome had jumped into the creek beside him. In panic Ed flailed his arms, trying to get away. Hands clasped his shoulders, and legs wrapped around his waist. Jerome had hopped onto his back. The weight toppled him head first into the water.

  Abigail tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Over and over she asked herself, How could what I read have made perfect sense to me and yet been unintelligible to Leah and Urcelle? She could find no answer. If Leah and Urcelle had told the truth, either their minds or hers must have suffered some disorder. They both seemed normal. It was sensible to conclude that she had experienced a weird mental fugue that had caused her to superimpose familiar words on a cryptic code. The strain she was under could have caused such a fugue. But what would explain the vision of magic spells when not only did she not believe in magic, but she had absolutely no use for such nonsense?