Down the Well, page 10
Petra looked at Lore and then back to the hat on the table, her flat head bobbing as she did so. “There are lotsss of archivesss under my care. I’ll need ssspecificsss.”
Lore’s lips puckered like the thoughts that rippled in her head were as sour as a lemon drop. Archives? The sensation of thudding against a sturdy back floated to the forefront of Lore’s mind. That night, it was Mathilde and the alligator—Gannon. They were talking about something. Some group.
“You know the ones,” Mathilde said with faint laughter. “The ones he was always so hard at work on.”
Petra’s head bobbed up and down. “Ah, thossse.” Her eyes fixated on Lore. “Of all the beastsss in Thimbleton that could have broken through Sssir Crinkle’s fancy cage…” The towering snake’s alluring laugh filled the air. “I would not have guesssed a human.”
Mathilde huffed, and Lore leaned back on the legs of her chair as if that would help her escape the intensity of the giant librarian.
“I sssaw the lassst onesss off, you know,” Petra added in almost a whisper, her forked tongue fluttering out between words.
“The archives?” Mathilde’s voice pulled the snake from her brief stroll down the lane of days passed.
Their host bowed her head to Mathilde. “Of courssse. One moment, pleassse.” Her body twisted and twirled, stacking itself up, and up, and up. No wonder the ceilings were so tall in this place.
Lore’s eyes watched the glimmering scales of the snake’s body as it slithered up to the floor above them. Like polished obsidian. The shadow of Petra’s flat, colossal head shaded over them as she stretched to the third level.
“Human, there’s more you’ll have to look through within the pages of those books.” Mathilde gestured towards the two piles with a head nod. “A bit of town history, customs, and a sprinkle of folklore.”
Lore’s lips pulled into a thin line. “Never been a fan of reading,” she admitted with an awkward chuckle.
Mathilde’s tongue smacked against her teeth. “That’s unfortunate for you.”
She groaned, causing Mathilde’s ears to twitch irritably.
The mouse’s gaze softened. “Human, are you not able to read?” Her voice was as delicate as the black lace on Lore’s dress.
“I can read just fine,” she snapped, her words filled with scorn. She picked up the blue leather-bound book her companion had snapped shut. “I’ll start here,” Lore huffed.
Mathilde didn’t push further, but a tender smile spread across her furry cheeks.
Lore brushed her fingertips against the golden embedded letters of the title. THE GREAT WIELDERS OF THIMBLETON. She inhaled deeply, and as she flipped through the first few chapters, skimming chapter titles, and paragraphs, she noticed a trend.
SABINA THE SINCERE
“Sabina is a beautiful name,” Lore muttered to herself while looking at the portrait.
The image was of a dark brown hedgehog that had a thin white collar under her narrow nose that dripped down to a point. Her long, slender ears came to a point at the top of her head.
Mathilde’s ears pricked up a bit while she looked at Petra’s figure moving above. Still watching the snake, she replied, “Ah, Sabina, another of the many great Wielders Thimbleton had the honor of cherishing. She came from the noble N.O.T’s.”
Lore smiled. “N.O.T’s?” What a funny word.
“Nomads of Thimbleton.” Mathilde hummed, her eyes still fixated on the rafters.
Lore nodded even though no one saw, and continued reading.
This powerful Wielder held the title of Grand Caster for twenty years, where she led the folk of Thimbleton out of the shadows of a shattering depression that plagued the land from the icy north to the warm lands of the south. She led with compassion and patience. Her home atop Grand Caster Hill, a sanctuary for the lost, hungry, and weary. The end of her reign marked the end of the Umbra Age, and forward to the age of Kindling.
The ground shook again, bringing Lore away from the words to her thoughts. Just how many Grand Casters are there? Where is this hill? What’s the age of Kindling? Is Thimbleton still in this era? Or a new one? The vibrations of the ground grew, and Lore’s eyes peered over the blue book in her hands to the sight of Petra returning with a single book being held carefully in her mouth.
The scaly librarian lowered her head to the table, tenderly placing the tome in front of Mathilde. There was nothing inherently special about the book. In fact, the only thing that stuck out from its rusty red binding was the fact that the pages were so mismatched. Lore raised a brow as Mathilde flipped it open.
Then the mouse’s face was a contradiction of wonder and sorrow as she skimmed the contents. Then her eyes angrily snapped to Petra. “What kind of a joke is this?” Mathilde’s voice trembled, though Lore couldn’t tell if it was with desperation or anger.
“As sssomeone with no official memberssship in the CHS, that isss all I can give you,” Petra assured.
“There’s nothing written in this book!” Mathilde’s grip tightened on the pages.
Petra’s head dipped, and her orange eyes scanned the tea-stained paper as Mathilde flipped through them. “How wily of him.” The snake’s tongue fluttered. It was the only sound among the ghostly whispers and flying books. “I exxxpected nothing less of him, though. If an outsssider wanted insssight, they’d have to work to uncover the sssecrets of reading the hidden wordss.”
Mathilde glowered at the empty book. “He left me with a human to watch out for, and a trail that ended with him shredded to ribbons.” She wiped her face with the cuff of her red jacket. “Such a cruel parting gift, Gannon.” She uttered the words as if the alligator were there to hear, tears again welling in her eyes. The mouse shoved the book under her arm. “You can’t let me see the other archives?”
Petra’s orange eyes seemed to glow. “I am not the initiator, only the keeper, and you’ve no clearance for thossse documentsss.”
Lore gulped and swallowed the metaphorical frog in her throat. “You know, there was something odd that stuck out to me.”
Mathilde looked up, holding Lore’s gaze despite the pain she was clearly in. “What, Human?”
“That bush I was hiding in,” she began. “Well, there were footprints there. And there was a splatter of blood on the well, but Gannon’s body was moved at least seven or eight feet away from it.”
“Footprints?” Mathilde’s ears perked up, and she slid from her chair. “We need to go look at them now—before the rain washes them away. If it hasn’t already.”
Lore nodded and kept the blue book in her hand as she pushed the wooden chair in.
The librarian’s head swayed back and forth as they took turns speaking.
“Petra,” Mathilde called, as she placed the top hat on her head, engulfing her with how oversized it was. “We will be taking these books—”
The reptile walled off the stairwell with her massive body. “Ssssory, but I made a vow to Gannon that nothing of the Charmsssend Hissstorical Sssociety archivesss would ever leave thisss thressshold.” Whatever warmth the snake possessed before was no longer there.
Mathilde swallowed hard as she gripped the rusty red book close to her chest.
“I’ll keep it ssssafe. You can return and sssee it when you figure out the key to reading it,” Petra said before softly and expectantly opening her mouth in front of Mathilde.
Lore’s eyes shot wide. The snake could have Mathilde in one bite if she wished for it.
Mathilde carefully placed the book in the enormous mouth.
The snake held it on her tongue. Then the coiled-up end of Petra unraveled bit by bit. The tip of her tail waved a librarian’s stamp, just outside Lore’s personal bubble.
Mathilde turned and flipped the front page open and pulled out a card from its pocket.
In a fluid motion, Petra stamped it. Then her body raced back to whatever secret hiding place she had for the Charmsend Historical Society’s archives. The ground and walls trembled and gradually steadied until the vibrations completely halted.
Mathilde led Lore back up the curved metal staircase.
“Let’s hope the prints are still there,” the mouse said.
Their feet pounded against the metal steps. As they ascended to the entry-level floor, the irrefutable sound of rain thrashed against the roof and windows. The badger bust whistled when he saw them again.
“Not now, Sir Bernard,” Mathilde said, rushing past the stone bust.
As Lore went to pass by him, he quickly spilled out a message. “He came in last night, you know. He was in quite a hurry. All a flutter. And Petra. Well, she and he had a bit of a disagreement.” The stone badger’s message was quick and quiet. As if the snake would hear his faint warning and punish him for sharing it.
The words landed hard, making Lore breathless as the tingling sensation of adrenaline rushed from her neck, down her arms, and to her fingertips.
“Go, go quickly.” He turned his stone head toward the door where Mathilde had already disappeared.
“Thank you, Sir Bernie,” Lore muttered as she darted for the exit.
“It’s Bernard!” She heard the badger’s voice call behind her.
SIXTEEN
The door slammed shut behind Lore, like the building itself was happy to be rid of a human intruder. Large droplets of water pelted her hair as she whipped her head back and forth, trying to see any sign of Mathilde. Which way did we come from again? As the rain picked up, the accompanying chilled air soaked Lore to the bone. Well, if I continue standing here like a lost dog, then all I’m gonna do is catch a cold.
She tightened her jaw and huffed as she started walking in a random direction. Looking for a warm place to rest, or Mathilde. She clutched the blue book close to her chest, under the cover of her green flannel. I wonder if there is another animal kind here like Sabina the Sincere that would lend me an umbrella at the very least. A warm drink if I were lucky.
It wasn’t long before Lore saw a figure in the gray sheets of rain. By Lady Luck’s good graces, this could be someone to at least point me in the right direction. As the figure and Lore closed in on each other, Lore felt like the long hairless tail ripped her lungs from her chest.
“Oh. Hello, human,” Sir Crinkle purred with amusement, twirling the handle of his hefty umbrella.
Lore took a step back as the tall, slinky opossum stepped towards her. “Hi,” she said in a nervous breath.
“Where is Mathilde?” His eyes peered around Lore, feigning a search for the mouse.
“That’s a good question,” Lore added. “One I am currently trying to figure out myself.” Her grip tightened on the book under her flannel.
“Tsk tsk. She shouldn’t have run off alone with a murderer on the loose.” Sir Crinkle leaned on his staff, his narrow snout curled into a wicked smile. “Why don’t you come with me?”
The very offer felt like an icicle had begun drip, drip, dripping its cold water down Lore’s spine. No, thank you.
Sir Crinkle pointed with the end of his staff at the neon sign that was swaying in the whipping wind. “I’m on my way for a drink and a warm meal.”
The crisp air blew again and the thick cloud coverage made it difficult for Lore to guess what time of day it was. The rain seeped through her flannel, and the frigid air nipped at her skin. She gritted her teeth and said, “Sure.”
His thick tail seemed to wave at her, beckoning her to share the umbrella with him. “No further reason to weather the storm. The umbrella is big enough for the two of us.”
She didn’t move. Mathilde is going to hear all about this. Maybe then she’ll think before taking off, but he did help clear the misunderstanding that she was capable of murder. Lore tensed as the conflicting thoughts battled.
Taking matters into his own hands, the opossum wrapped his tail around her. The weight of it on her waist made her want to vomit.
Thankfully, the pub wasn’t that far of a walk, and when Sir Crinkle opened the door, a bell rang. All drunken cheer and laughter halted as blank stares carefully watched their entrance. The only sound was the sultry voice of the ginger vixen on stage and the keys of a piano. The other patrons watched as a long-haired, green-eyed calico cat wearing a wicked glower approached.
She was clad in a thin-strapped tank top, ripped pants, and thick-heeled black boots that clicked louder and louder against the floor as she approached them. A cigarette hung from her lips. Before Crinkle could request a table, She stepped closer to him and lifted her chin, stared him dead in the eye as she took a long hit off of it and blew the smoke into his face as she spoke. “I see that the only way you can get a plus one is by taking advantage of the human’s naivety.”
Lore was too stunned to say anything. Her wide eyes bounced to Sir Crinkle, who casually laughed the insult off as if it were a normal way to greet someone.
He fastened his umbrella closed. “You flatter me, Dina. But, no.” Sir Crinkle’s eyes sparkled like a freshly polished jet stone. “I’m afraid your wild imagination has once again misinterpreted the circumstances.”
Dina raised an eyebrow. “That so?” Her tone invited a retort, and the crowded pub looked on. It appeared no one had let a breath slip since they’d entered.
The opossum didn’t press further and merely smiled. He seemed smart enough to know which battles to choose. He tilted his head and let a soft laugh escape. “It’ll be my usual booth, Dina.”
The calico cat turned her back and picked up two menus from behind the hostess’s podium. “Right this way,” she said, her voice primed with the appeal of a molded fruit.
As Lore and Crinkle followed the cat to the booth in the farthest back corner of the pub, the conversations of the other animal folk picked up again. As if nothing out of the ordinary had just unfolded before them.
Seems like I’m not alone in my skepticism of the magic-using opossum. Lore noted as she slid against the rubbery cushion of the booth. Crinkle sat across from her, his naked hands folded neatly together. Felicity tossed down both menus, one in front of each of them. Then Lore noticed she had two leather cuffs with a circular metal ring hanging off each one. Those are cute.
The calico rested a hand on her hip. “Can I start y’all off with somethin’ to drink?”
Lore opened the menu and sat it up, like a little wall between her and Sir Crinkle. “I’d like a water please.” Then she watched the cat’s stare bore into the opossum, who gave a smile.
“I’ll have a coffee, two creams, four sugars, and shaken this time, love—last time I could taste that it was stirred.”
Dina rolled her eyes and the sounds of her clicking heels faded away as she went to fetch their drinks.
Sir Crinkle rested his head on his folded hands. “You’re soaked to the bone and you opt for a water instead of something warm? Like cocoa, coffee, or tea?”
Lore sat with her back flat against the booth. “Water is normally free or relatively cheap. As you could imagine, I don’t have any money.”
He said nothing at first, mulling over her answer and his next question. “So, how’s that head of yours feeling?”
“Fine.”
“You remember everything just fine, then?” His eyes narrowed, but he sounded amused.
Lore’s forehead wrinkled. Before she could ask anything further, Dina returned.
“Anything look good to ya, human?” she asked, gesturing to the menu.
“Oh, sorry.” Lore squinted at Crinkle before turning to the cat. “I didn’t get the chance to see what there was.”
“Take your time.”
“Well, I am ready,” Crinkle protested.
“I’ll get to you when I get to you,” Dina said firmly before disappearing into the smoke-filled bar.
Lore’s eyes fluttered over the menu standing between her and Crinkle. Lamb? Chicken pot pie? “You’re a bunch of cannibals?” she gasped, slightly horrified.
He bellowed out a laugh. “No, human.” He adjusted himself as he took a sip of his coffee. “You see, there are some natural predators among us, and it’s only just that we also accommodate to their uh…” his mouth cracked into a smile that looked like a spidering fracture in glass, “particular tastes as one might say.”
Lore sucked on the inside of her cheek while she thought. “So, you mean to tell me you just pick someone random to slaughter because Frank the bear needs to eat?”
He laughed again. “You’re a funny one, human.” He took another sip and then smacked his lips together. “Not every rabbit, chicken, or animal has the factor that makes us folk, us.” He paused, then leaned in like he was sharing some secret with her. “All animals are sacred in Thimbleton.” He drummed his fingers against the table before softly adding, “Some are more competent than others, though.”
Lore took a sip of her lemon water and digested this information.
He pressed his own questioning again. “So, I’m assuming since you slipped out of the mayor’s manor, you didn’t have any odd happenings when waking up after that healing spell?”
Lore used her straw to stab the lemon floating in her water. “Not anything that I noticed.” But how would I notice any weird side effects coming off of a healing spell? This whole damn town seemed like some sort of fever dream.
Crinkle ran a finger around the rim of his coffee cup. “So, what’s your name, human?”
Lore’s eyes shot to his. She took a sip of water hoping it’d get rid of the sudden dryness coating the back of her throat. “I—uh, my name. Right.”
The opossum grinned as he watched Lore silently search the crevices of her mind for something as simple as a name. Her name.
Her eyes lost focus, vision blurring and a few wrinkles scrunching on her forehead as her eyebrows pulled tightly together.
“Don’t strain yourself,” Crinkle’s voice mused. “My magic must have been too potent for you, darling. Give it another day or so and you’ll get your memories back.”
Lore didn’t trust the certainty of his voice. She crossed her arms. “How do you know?” This place may have giant snakes and a talking deck of cards, but I draw the line at all-knowing magical opossums. Of all the animals—an opossum? Really?
