Unwritten, page 18
The pub stood in the light of three antique lamps, which illuminated a sign rocking on rusted hinges. The Elephant & Castle it announced, next to the image of an elephant on a spider web.
The façade had been painted red with black and gold accents, and paneled windows curved outward, giving them the appearance of bottle bottoms.
“I’m starving,” Lucy said, pushing the door open.
Inside, it was dark and musty, the fermented smell of beer and used frying oil hanging like a cloud above the bar. Scarred tables with rough benches crowded the dining room, while a few booths sectioned the back wall.
“Oh, no! We’ve missed the happy hour. No mythical burgers for us.” Paul’s disappointment dripped onto a floor stained by a million spills.
The patrons looked interesting, to say the least. Beatrix saw winged creatures sitting next to military-dressed brutes, oversized talking rats, and women in can-can outfits. A little girl with a paper dress swept the floor, and two boys tested a toy cannon that shot puffs of pink cotton candy across the room. A hunchback danced awkwardly on a side stage, and some kind of space-age meeting was happening in a separate room, half-visible through sheer curtains. From behind the bar, an old gypsy with an eye patch shook a sequined pouch in Beatrix’s direction, then spat.
Cassandra’s laughter sounded like clinking crystal. “I don’t care much for this place. Even if it’s one of the most popular in Olde Town.”
“I kind of like it,” Beatrix said.
“Oh, no. You’ve been infected.” Cassandra faked dismay, and as if she had jinxed her, a wave of nausea threatened to turn Beatrix’s stomach. The monster stirred, uneasy. The Roamer’s cramps were getting more frequent.
The group settled in a booth under some weird animal heads, around a table that past guests had defaced with hundreds of doodles. A few other people joined them, several coming and going, so that soon Beatrix struggled to keep the names and guilds and who studied what straight.
“Don’t stress,” Cassandra said. “They won’t notice.”
When the waiters brought the food, the group became even bigger and more boisterous, and Beatrix was pulled into several conversations. It seemed they were mostly university and guild students.
“The music’s starting,” Matt said shortly after. “Coming, Lucy?”
The rest of the table vacated so fast they made a breeze. Only Cassandra and Beatrix remained behind.
Beatrix pulled the letter from her pouch. “Here’s the new verse I told you about.”
“Remarkable,” Cassandra said after studying it. “I knew the astrolabe had to be a decoder.”
“Which makes me think the thimble must be another. The astrolabe needed to be twisted left. Maybe the thimble has a trick too.”
Cassandra sipped her drink. “I just can’t think what else we could do with it. It’s a very simple object. Anything new on the map? Or about Mary?”
“No. William sent over more cartography books, and we split them, so he’ll check too.” Beatrix caressed the letter with her palm. “I thought we could focus on the words. The last time the little sky did open, so maybe the verse is revealing the mechanism of the decoder.”
“Put it away,” Cassandra said in an urgent tone.
Beatrix lifted her gaze from the paper with a start. “What? Why?”
“Later,” Cass mouthed.
Quickly refolding the message, Beatrix shoved it in her pouch.
“I don’t like the attention we’re attracting,” Cassandra murmured.
Beatrix scanned the room, noticing an inordinate amount of stares settled on them. Some openly hostile. She shrunk inside at the reminder that even here, she wasn’t welcome. One seemed friendly though: a boy no older than thirteen winked at her, and she recognized him. Huck Finn still refused to wear shoes.
“Hey, guys,” an animated voice said. The newcomer wore a bright patterned shirt. His short hair shone highlighter orange. Everything about him seemed colorful, and when he moved, he swaggered, as if his body thought he was dancing.
“Hi there, Dyøt,” Cassandra said, scooting to let the addition sit down. “I guess your exam finished early. How was it?”
Dyøt made a face. “Before I answer, is that tankard full?”
“It’s that blue drink you don’t like,” Cassandra told him. “But you’re welcome to it.”
“Shudder,” Dyøt said. “I hate the stuff. For the record, the test was brutal. Professor Polihistor must have a cruel streak we’ve all missed.”
“No!” Cassandra said. “He’s like a grandpa. All nice and slow and caring.”
“Until he grades. But anyway…” He turned to Beatrix. “So you’re Bea. I’m Dyøt. I work with Cassandra, and she wouldn’t stop talking about you. Did you already discuss masks? I’m helping Cass with hers.”
Cassandra’s face fell. “Oh, Bea. I totally forgot about the Monsters Ball.”
“What’s the Monsters Ball?”
One day, Beatrix hoped she wouldn’t have to ask constant questions. After finishing Tome III of the essentials and history of the Zweeshen, she’d managed to get a hold of volumes I and II. But the Zweeshen was still too foreign, and many things others took for granted were new to her. It gave her the feeling of walking on thin ice, each step unsteady.
Dyøt lifted his arms. “What’s the Monsters Ball? Only the best party in the worlds.”
“Every year, all the guilds come together for a huge bash, and this being the land of stories, it’s a masquerade,” Cassandra said, a quirk to her lips. “A bit tongue-in-cheek.”
“It’s the biggest event ever,” Dyøt said. “And let me tell you, you can’t miss it. The guild of the year is chosen, and celebrities from all over show up. It’s lavish. They go totally over-the-top.”
“I haven’t been invited to any balls.” Beatrix’s experiences with parties were limited and unpleasant, so popping up uninvited to some big event was not enticing. An image of Evenzaar’s twisted lips appeared. Yeah, no.
“Everyone at the University attends,” Dyøt said, like that settled the matter. “You’re as good as invited.”
“I bet Emma will want to pick a costume for you.” Cassandra brought forth her holopad and began scribbling on it.
Beatrix smiled at the thought of Emma’s obsession with her clothes. “I’m sure she’ll be ecstatic. What kind of costume?” Beatrix had never dressed up. Martin wasn’t the kind of dad who would take anyone out on Halloween, and being forced into a huge monkey outfit or some such sounded dreadful.
“Taelimns used to wear full-body costumes back in the day,” Cassandra said, slipping a carrot into her mouth. “But after a real ogre hid among the guests, they decided to stick to masks.”
“They’re supposed to represent antagonists from our stories,” Dyøt said. “Some are pretty good. Most are impossible to guess.”
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad then, Beatrix thought. “What will you be?” Perhaps she’d get some inspiration.
“A deadly disease, of course,” Dyøt said with a grin that had a touch of malice.
“Mine has a live serpent,” Cassandra said.
“The ball’s in less than two weeks.” Dyøt grabbed a pickle from Cassandra’s plate. She didn’t seem to care. “We need to get started on your costume ASAP, Bea. Mine took all of five minutes to prepare, but I’ve been helping Cass with hers for a month.”
“We’ve just enough time if we get organized,” Cassandra said.
Two weeks? Beatrix expected to be gone to the Eisid Naraid by then, but watching Cassandra’s and Dyøt’s expressions, she opted not to dampen their excitement.
Cassandra began to write on her pad, enumerating tasks. “Dyøt, you know what to do about the invite. Beatrix, we’ll need your size for the charmed dancing shoes. I’ll take care of ordering those. The chameleon ones, so we can choose the color once we decide on the dress. I know Lucy will want to help with the gown. She can partner with Emma on that. That girl would kill us if we left her out of this. You’ll require a good mask, though.” Cassandra thought for a few moments, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Magical ones are the best. But all Conjures are probably booked by now. Isn’t your friend one?”
“Which friend?”
“William,” Cassandra said. “You know, the one who looks worried all the time.”
“Oh, he’s not really my friend, and I don’t think he has any Fantasy magic.”
“Are you kidding?” Cassandra’s eyebrows shot up. “You can sense his power from a mile away.”
“I heard he’s a Flush,” Dyøt said. “A Royal one.”
Beatrix choked on her drink. “A what?” She coughed two more times.
“A Royal Flush is a Conjure who can manage the five elements. It’s rare, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the rumors were true. He has that look about him.”
“Well, he won’t be conjuring anything for me,” Beatrix said. Even if he was acting friendlier, there was no way she’d ask him.
“No problem.” Cassandra put away her holopad. “We’ll choose something at the Bazaar. I’m swamped tomorrow, but we can go mask shopping with Lucy and Emma the day after. It will be fun.”
Dyøt set a hand on Beatrix’s forearm. “She’ll find you an awesome one. Cass is great at uncovering treasure anywhere.” At the contact with the boy’s skin, dizziness gripped Beatrix.
Without warning the Furie climbed up her chest. It clawed like a wild animal while rust flooded her mouth, and the heavy scent of magic pooled around her.
She took a breath. Counted down. But the foreign smell of earth and musk swirled, and a strange touch of cold extended from the floor to reach her. It twined with the part of Beatrix that was wild and violent. And evil, perhaps. She felt herself float away from her seat in the pub—everyone left behind on the other side of a curtain of fog. Rage mixed with want. The Furie rejoiced, eager to be free, while she burned with the wish to grab the world with both hands and mold it to her liking. To force her will upon it without her self-imposed chains.
In a daze of semiconsciousness, she wondered why not let go. Then the edges of the scene blurred, painted by mist, and reduced her vision to a vignette.
The image came as if through rain, grainy but undeniable.
Against the darkness of the sky and the woods, a fire burned, supernatural. A puff of sparks erupted, and dust particles flew up into the air.
The smoke smelled of paper and of singed mold.
In the center of the pyre, a woman begged, her arms extended out offering a tight bundle. The desperation in her shrieks stabbed the night even after the flames engulfed her and her child.
Beyond her, at the edge of the bonfire, stood a man.
His mouth open, his body arched. His heart ecstatic with the power he’d consumed. All of him shook with hunger.
His tongue was coated with rust.
And when his eyes lifted, they speared Beatrix.
“I see you,” he mouthed. “Neither you nor your world can hide.”
“Beatrix! Beatrix, snap out of it. Come back!” Cassandra was shaking her, and Beatrix’s teeth chattered. She blinked, dragging herself back to normalcy.
“Take this. Kelpie water,” Dyøt said, pushing a flute into her hands.
Cassandra watched her with concern. “Drink. It will help you recover.”
Beatrix sipped on what tasted like cucumber water and shivered. The images were branded in her mind. The horror coursed in her blood.
“You must have some seer in you,” Cassandra said. “I recognize a vision trance when I witness one. What was it?”
Beatrix drank more in the hope of ridding herself of the sticky feeling from the vision. She’d never experienced anything like it. Even the Roamer’s attacks that by now plagued her nightly didn’t have the capacity to frighten her like this. What could have caused it? She wasn’t comfortable with the idea of it becoming a common occurrence. She looked at Dyøt, whose eyes were wide with worry.
“Talking about it helps,” Cassandra said in a low voice. “Tell me.”
“Fire,” Beatrix said, her voice hoarse. “Fire everywhere. People dying.” And the feeling that it was her fault.
Cassandra took her hand. “You definitely have a bit of the sight in your blood. What you saw is a Charmancer, a corrupted being who burns books to feed on their souls and accumulate power. He’s been plaguing my visions too.” Cassandra’s face was more chalk than cream. Her expression, haunted.
They all fell silent, the merry banter and the plans for the ball forgotten. Replaced with a dread that was both insidious and contagious.
“He can’t stop,” Beatrix said, the horrible images still vibrant. “He’s addicted to burning books.”
“Not any books,” Cassandra said. “Leebers. The vessels where the souls of books are kept once bound.”
Dyøt shuddered before he spoke. “And when a Leeber is destroyed, the world within it dies.”
20
SELDA
Two days later, after a rough night filled with Roamer’s attacks, a depleted Beatrix crossed the Market Square with its distinctive guild buildings. She’d agreed to meet Cassandra, Lucy, and Emma at the Union to continue working on the riddle.
As Beatrix walked, she kept an eye out for the slumbering dragon atop the Fantasy Guild. “Watch the tower,” Emma had said on a previous visit to the square. “A snore is coming.” Sure enough, the buttresses of the Fantasy Guild had rattled, and the whole gothic monstrosity teetered. “Everyone keeps telling the leadership the dragon needs to be rehomed. But do they listen? Oh, no, of course not.” Only then had Beatrix spotted the stone creature curling atop the tower. “He hasn’t woken in three centuries, caused two fires in the alchemy lab with his restless sleeping.”
This time around, the dragon moved not at all, giving the false impression that it was another building feature.
“Don’t trust it.” Beatrix could almost hear Emma’s voice in her head.
The weather had turned for the worse, and even in the midmorning, everything was grey. A perfect match for Beatrix’s mood, which had been ruined the previous eve after she had gotten into a shouting match with the Librarian.
Since she’d landed in the Zweeshen, Evenzaar had been a hovering presence, not only watching her throughout dinner every day but always aware of her movements in a manner that felt both creepy and uncalled for. Beatrix had hoped her daily access to him might serve in her search for Mary. She’d tested this theory yesterday.
It hadn’t worked.
“I will consider putting your name on the waiting list,” the Librarian had told her when she’d requested to read her mother’s Leeber. “Maybe.”
“But there are no other copies available,” Beatrix had said, outrage heating her. “You cannot refuse my request. It’s my book.”
“And the vessel of a story that’s alive. You can’t expect to borrow it as if it were a regular paperback you can spill coffee on without consequences.”
They had gone back and forth for twenty minutes, their voices growing louder and attracting the attention of everyone else in the Great Hall.
“We’re at an impasse,” Evenzaar had said finally. Then with a sneer he’d added, “It figures of all her qualities, you’d inherit the worst of her stubbornness.” With that shot about Beatrix’s mom, he’d swirled his robe and stomped away. Beatrix had almost punched the table full of flabbergasted professors.
But today, none of that anger had survived. She felt too weak after a night in pain to even muster up a rage. She just wanted to find Mary. To make some progress. Any headway at all.
Beatrix had reached the huge fountain in the middle of the Market Square and turned onto the road to the Union to meet her friends, when a crowd obstructed her way. At least eighty people congregated there.
“What’s going on?” someone asked, echoing her thoughts.
“A detectives and spies checkpoint,” another said, his voice charged with suspicion. “They won’t let anyone through without a face scan.”
She craned her neck and recognized at least two of the fake detectives she’d seen at the Bureau. The phony Sherlock stood next to one of two Poirots, surrounded by a contingent of uniformed officers. They had cordoned off the side alleys and were funneling everyone through a single street.
“Order,” one of the detectives called. “Stand for checks.”
The officers herded everyone, and Beatrix was swept along to a line that ended at what looked like a gilded version of a metal detector.
“Step in and look straight at the bot,” the officer manning the apparatus said. And one by one, as each person did, a scanner swiped over their faces. “No. No. No.” The machine whirred.
Pushed forward, Beatrix stood inside the box while crisscrossing lasers scanned her up and down. “No,” the bot said, and the officer ushered her on. Despite her curiosity, she hurried away, eager to get far from this scene. There was something deeply unsettling about it. But a few steps later, one of the detectives detached himself from the rest and intercepted her.
The fake Sherlock. He pinned her with a narrowed gaze.
“Eisidian, aren’t you?” Before she could confirm or deny it, he shoved a paper in her hand. “If you know anything, report it. You would not want to be an accomplice.” After a quick pat to the weapon strapped to his side, he turned around and left.
She raced to the shade of the Union gallery.
“That sounds a bit extreme,” Emma said, reading the events off of her mind when they met up a few minutes later.
Cassandra’s face was pale with shock at hearing about them. “Things are getting too forceful.”
“It’s because of this Charmancer,” Lucy said. “Everyone’s on edge.”
“It’s an excuse.” Cassandra’s voice had an uncharacteristic violence.
Beatrix just wanted to leave the episode behind. “Let’s get to work.”
