“Lovely,” the woman said. “Always reminds me of Christmas.”
“I don’t have any money,” Kate said. “I don’t know how I’ll pay you—”
The woman gave a dismissive wave. “Worry about that later. What seems to be the problem? Is it a boy? I’m quite famous for my love potions.”
“No, it’s not a boy.”
“Trouble with your parents? You wish they’d be more understanding? Move your feet closer to the stove.”
Kate obeyed; her toes had begun to thaw, and they ached as the feeling returned.
“It’s … not my parents.”
“Perhaps a beauty charm. Though I don’t think you could be much prettier.” She handed Kate a steaming mug of tea. “Drink up now.”
“I need to go to the future.”
The woman stopped and looked at her, making no attempt to hide her surprise.
“That’s not a request I get every day. And why would you want that?”
“It’s … where I’m from. I came here by accident.”
The woman sat in the other armchair. The booth was small enough that she and Kate were knee to knee. Her eyes were deep blue and gentle.
“My dear, I think you’d better tell me what happened.”
Kate dropped her gaze to the untouched tea. “It’s complicated. I can’t … tell you everything. But the magic that brought me here, some of it’s still in me. You can use it to send me home. Someone did it before. She …”
“What’s wrong, child?”
The stall was becoming uncomfortably hot. Kate felt herself sweating.
“Nothing. I’m fine. Can you help me?”
“Well, I won’t pretend I’m the greatest witch in the world. But there’s certainly magic in you. I sensed it the moment you walked in.”
“So you’ll send me back?”
Kate hated how desperate she sounded. And the fact was, something was wrong. Her vision had begun to blur. The woman’s face swam before her.
“Are you sure you’re feeling well? Let me have that before you drop it.”
The mug was taken from her hand. Kate started to rise. She needed to get out. She needed cold air to clear her head.
“Where are you going, child?”
“I just … I need …”
And then she pitched forward into darkness.
When she woke, she heard voices and, for a moment, thought she was back in the rooftop shed and that the voices belonged to Jake and Beetles. But these weren’t boys’ voices. They were harsh and guttural, and spoke as if the very act of making words was foreign and unnatural. Then she heard the witch’s voice.
“You’re not cheating me out of this one. She’s special.”
Kate opened her eyes. She was lying on the ground, her cheek resting on one of the rugs. There was a cloud inside her head. The witch had drugged her. Something in the tea fumes. How long had she been unconscious? Past the iron legs of the stove, she made out two pairs of muddy boots.
“We never paid no hundred dollars. You know that.”
The voice sounded like a wild animal that had been taught to speak. Every word was a growl. Kate had to get away. Praying that no one was watching, she began to inch toward the door.
“I’m telling you,” the witch said, “this one has magic in her. Deep magic. More powerful than any I’ve ever seen. He’ll want her. Believe me; he’ll want her.”
“Seventy dollars.”
“A hundred. And if he thinks she’s not worth it, I’ll return the money.”
“People are saying crazy things now,” snapped the harsh voice. “Everyone’s trying to get what they can before the Separation.”
“This is nothing like that. A hundred dollars is fair.”
“Fine. But if he ain’t happy, we’ll be back.”
Kate knew she was out of time; she would have to make a dash. She tried to push herself up, but her arms gave way. She was too weak. Too weak to run, too weak to fight. Then leathery, sharp-nailed hands were grasping her under the shoulders and heaving her to her feet. Kate saw the witch counting a wad of money.
“Please …”
The witch smiled, her eyes as gentle as ever. “You should’ve just asked for a love potion, child.”
Kate was dragged out the back of the tent and onto a crowded sidewalk. To her dismay, the cold air did nothing to clear the fog in her head, and she struggled to catch the attention of the people walking by.
“Please … help me.…”
“Quiet,” growled one of her captors. “No one cares.”
And so it seemed. For as they yanked her stumbling along the sidewalk, passing eyes would glance up, see what was happening, and quickly turn away. Kate could hardly blame them. She’d now had a chance to see her kidnappers. In some respects, they looked like short, thick-bodied men, dressed in dark suits and overcoats, their round hats pulled low. But these were not men. Their skin was like the hide of an animal, rough and hard and dimpled. Their nails were thick and sharp. Stiff whiskers shot straight from their cheeks, while their lower jaws jutted up and out, displaying a pair of short yellow tusks. No, not men. So what were they? And what did they plan to do with her?
“Where’re you … taking me?”
“To the boss. Now shut it, or we’ll rip your tongue out.”
They jerked her down a narrow alley. It was dark and empty, and the sounds of the street soon faded away. Kate didn’t know when she’d started sobbing. She was just suddenly aware that she was shaking and that it had nothing to do with the cold. What was going to happen? To her? To Michael and Emma? To their parents? Why had she been so stupid! Why hadn’t she just gone to Cambridge Falls and found Dr. Pym! She’d doomed them all!
And to make matters even worse, the witch’s poison had returned. A deadness was spreading through Kate’s arms and legs. She stopped walking, but her captors simply dragged her on, her feet scraping over the cobblestones. She knew she could not stay conscious much longer. She had no strength left to fight.
Then came the sound of something moving through the air. There was a hard thunk, and the creature on Kate’s left grunted and fell. Released, Kate tumbled to the ground. She turned to see the other creature spinning, growling, a knife already in its hand. Too late, the creature sensed the cord that had looped around its neck, and as a figure leapt down from above, the cord snapped tight and the creature was yanked to its toes. The cord, Kate saw, had been strung through the bottom of the fire escape, and the figure now took his end and wrapped it around a pipe protruding from the building’s wall. Kate’s captor was left dancing on tiptoe, clawing at the noose about its neck.
The figure was a boy. He looked to be about Kate’s age, or perhaps a year older. He had unkempt black hair, pale skin, and a nose that had been broken at least once. He was dressed lightly for the cold, but was not shivering. Kate watched as he went to the fallen creature and wrenched a knife out of its back. He cleaned the blade on the creature’s coat and slipped it into a sheath at the back of his trousers. Then the boy gave the snarling creature at the end of the cord a kick that sent it dancing across the alley. Finally, he looked at Kate, who had not moved from where she lay on the ground. Stunned as she had been by his sudden appearance, the boy—judging from the way he stopped and stared—was even more stunned by her.
He said, “… It’s you.”
Kate didn’t know what to say. She had never seen this boy before.
He pulled her to her feet.
“We need to move. There’ll be more Imps coming. Can you walk?”
“Who … are you?”
“My name’s Rafe.”
The name echoed in the dark cloud of her mind.
“The boys …”
“Yeah. They got to me.”
“But … how do you … know me?”
They were hurrying down the street; Kate was leaning against him. She could feel herself slipping. And, as the darkness closed in, she heard:
“Doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t ha
ve come.…”
“Get back!”
“Shouldn’t we run—”
“No.”
“But—”
“It will think you’re food.”
That was good enough for Michael, and he pressed himself into the alcove, wedging his shoulder tight against Emma’s. He could hear the slow thud … thud … thud of the creature’s footsteps coming down the alley, and at each impact, Michael saw dust shake loose from the stone columns of the archway. His confidence wavered.
“Are you sure—”
“Quiet,” Emma hissed.
“Indeed,” said the wizard.
Before they’d left the cliff-top house in Spain, Dr. Pym had warned the children about what to expect in Malpesa. “Remember,” he’d told them, “Malpesa is a city in which normal, nonmagical humans live side by side with dwarves, elves, merfolk, witches and wizards, partially housebroken trolls—”
“Trolls?” Michael had exclaimed, trying not to sound too panicked. “But don’t trolls … eat kids?”
“I suppose,” the wizard had said, “that trolls are somewhat partial to children. But really, the odds of our meeting a troll are so astronomically low, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Banish it from your thoughts!”
Astronomically low, Michael thought as the ground shook and the creature came into view. Right.
The troll was the size of an adult elephant, with the same saggy gray skin and shambling gait, but with none of an elephant’s innate intelligence. Indeed, Michael had never seen any creature that projected an air of such perfect stupidity. The troll was busy cleaning one of its enormous ears with a garden hoe, scraping out great boulders of earwax, crusts of greenish bread, a cracked teapot, a bewildered-looking seagull.…
“We’re lucky,” Dr. Pym said when the creature had lumbered past. “At least it was wearing clothes.”
Much to the children’s frustration, they had spent all day at the house on the coast of Spain. Dr. Pym had told them that Malpesa was infested with the Dire Magnus’s spies and they could not risk entering the city till nightfall. The children had argued that they didn’t care about the danger, they wanted to find Kate and rescue their parents. “Be that as it may,” the wizard had said, “I have other reasons for waiting till dark.” He had refused to explain further; and in the end, Michael and Emma had spent the day listlessly exploring the cliffs and nearby beach as the sun made its sluggish way across the sky.
The wizard had disappeared in the afternoon, returning after dark laden with heavy pants and shirts, sweaters, coats, wool socks, and boots that fit surprisingly well. “It’s still winter in South America,” he’d said. “We have to dress appropriately.”
Then, making use of his golden key once more—and after a final warning that the children must do exactly as he said while in Malpesa—Dr. Pym had led them through the kitchen door and into another land.
More or less immediately, they’d encountered the troll.
As the creature’s footsteps faded away, the wizard bid them follow and turned down a narrow alley.
Michael hesitated.…
The sun had gone down, but there was still enough light to see, and what he saw was an old colonial town of stone streets and three- and four-story houses with red tile roofs and wide ground-floor arcades. Half a dozen spires and towers rose above the nest of buildings. To Michael’s left, the street ran down to a harbor, where a score of fishing boats lay berthed. With their black nets strung up and drying, the ships looked both spooky and elegant, like a gathering of widows. Next to the boats was a pair of small floatplanes, bobbing on the tide. Beyond that stretched the blue-black table of the sea. Looking the other way, Michael saw that the town was walled in by mountains, snowy and massive, their peaks hidden among the clouds.
He was charmed: elegant old buildings, a perfect setting, and best of all, you could walk out your front door and be face to face with a wizard! Or a dwarf!
Michael had already forgotten his terror at the troll’s appearance.
I was born too late, he thought, and allowed himself a philosophical sigh.
“Michael!” Dr. Pym’s voice echoed down the alley. “Please don’t linger!”
The wizard led them along a series of twisting streets. There were patches of ice among the paving stones, and they passed restaurants and stores—grocery stores, clothing stores, a shuttered flower shop—that might’ve been found in any city in the world, and next door to those were taverns with signs announcing DWARFISH ALE ON TAP and shops that sold charms for seafarers: protections against drowning, fair-weather spells, a potion that let you speak to whales. They saw men and women, bundled up and going about their shopping, and they saw groups of dwarves, dressed in thick, dark coats and woolen hats with long tassels, marching past with clay pipes sticking from their bearded mouths.
They crossed many canals, or rather they crossed the bridges that spanned the canals, so many bridges and so many canals that the city seemed almost more water than land. Most of the canals were only a dozen feet wide, but at one point, the street opened up and the children found themselves at the edge of a wide canal lined with stately columned houses, many of which had seen better days. In the gathering dusk, lights reflected off the dark water, and men called to each other from their narrow, black-hulled boats, their voices echoing as they passed beneath the stone bridges.
“It’s like Venice,” the wizard said, “without the tourists.”
“But with trolls,” Emma grumbled.
“Well, given the choice, I’ll take the trolls.”
“Dr. Pym,” Michael said, “can’t you tell us where we’re going?”
“You’ll see soon enough, my boy.”
And he started off again with his quick, long-legged stride.
The children knew they were here to search for the map mentioned in Hugo Algernon’s letter, the same map their parents had gone searching for ten years before; and it was likewise apparent that Dr. Pym had a theory about where to look, but so far, the wizard had not been forthcoming with details.
“If I tell you where we’re going,” he’d said—this was still back at the house in Spain—“you’ll only start worrying.”
As if saying that, Michael reflected, wasn’t enough to make a person start worrying.
They pressed on through the maze-like streets, over bridge after bridge, and as they walked, Michael stole a glance at Emma. At breakfast that morning, he’d tried to get her to acknowledge his new authority as oldest sibling, wanting to be clear on the matter before, as he put it, they were “out in the field” and their survival depended on her following his orders “without question.”
“But we’re both twelve,” she’d said.
“Yes, technically. But only for a few more days. I’m basically thirteen.”
“So till then we’re equal.”
“But Kate put me in charge, remember? In Miss Crumley’s office, she said, ‘Look after Emma.’ ”
“That’s probably because she saw you first. If she’d seen me, she probably would’ve said, ‘Emma, look after Michael! He really needs it!’ ”
“I seriously doubt that.”
“Well, don’t worry.” And Emma had patted him on the arm. “I’ll look after you anyway.”
Then she’d gone to throw rocks into the sea, and that was that.
“Here we are,” said the wizard.
They had emerged from yet another alley and were standing on a stone embankment, looking out over a seemingly endless stretch of dark water. Michael felt as if they’d arrived at a kind of border: behind them was Malpesa, with its lights and noise; before them, this great emptiness, and no sound save the soft lapping of the sea against stone.
“We have a few minutes,” Dr. Pym said. “The bridge will not appear until night has well and truly fallen.”
“What bridge?” Michael asked.
“You’ll see, my boy. Now, as this may be our last quiet moment of the evening, there is something I need to give you.”
>
From an inside pocket, the wizard produced an object the size and shape of a marble and made of milky blue-gray glass. A thin wire looped about it and attached to a rawhide band, as if the marble was to be worn as a necklace.
“This arrived two weeks ago at the house in Cambridge Falls. There was no note, but the envelope was addressed to ‘The Eldest Wibberly.’ ”
“Who sent it?” Emma asked.
“That, my dear, is the question. Who knew that you three had been at Cambridge Falls? Of course, there’s the Dire Magnus and his followers. But such stratagems are not his style. Another possibility, and it is only a possibility, is—”
“Our parents,” Michael said. Due to the strange twists and turns of time travel, the children’s adventure in Cambridge Falls had taken place before they’d actually been born, and subsequently, Dr. Pym had told their parents about what was going to happen. “You really think it’s from them?”
“I do not know. That is part of what is troubling me.”
“What’s the other part?”
“That I don’t know what the blasted thing is! Still, I’ve been unable to detect any sort of curse or malignancy, and I believe the time has come to turn it over to you.”
Emma immediately reached out her hand, only to have the wizard stop her.
“My dear, it was addressed to the eldest Wibberly, and in the present circumstances, I think it should go to Michael.”
Emma huffed, but Michael was pleased.
Finally, he thought.
He took the orb by its rawhide strap. “What do I do with it?”
“We could smash it,” Emma suggested.
To Michael’s surprise, the wizard nodded. “You’d be surprised how many magical objects give up their secrets when bashed to bits. Unfortunately, that might also destroy it, and if it is from your parents, I would hate to lose the message. Either way, the decision is yours.”
Michael sensed them watching him. The glass marble felt light, almost hollow.
“Kate’s the real oldest,” he said finally. “I’ll keep it till she comes back.”
He knew it was strange that his first decision as oldest sibling was to pass the authority back to Kate; but saying that he believed his sister would return felt good, like an act of faith, and Michael smiled as he slipped the marble over his head.
The Fire Chronicle Page 7