Down the Well, page 11
The animal in question let out a ghoulish cackle, “I may not be specialized in the healing arts…” He leaned forward over the table, closing what bit of space they had between them. “But I assure you, I am confident in my familiarity and ability with my magic.”
Lore leaned against the rubbery back of the booth. She bit her lip and looked out the window at the rain pouring down outside. There’s no way those tracks are still there. She looked back to Crinkle, who was taking a deep drink of his coffee. Got to get away from this guy.
Dina returned with a pad and glittery pink pen. “Y’all ready to order?”
Crinkle nodded. “Ah, yes. I’ll have my usual, my dear. You know how I like the fruit cut just so, and the insects in a bowl on the side.”
The fluffy calico scribbled down what he said. “How could I forget my pickiest customer’s signature order?” she muttered. “How ‘bout you, human? Anything catch your eye?”
Lore pursed her lips. “I’ll just have what he’s having.”
The cat tilted her head. “Well, I’ll be damned. The human doesn’t want the raw meat of children with a side of blood sauce.” She gave a teasing pat on Lore’s shoulder. “S’pose I owe the cook a few copper taels after all.” She laughed playfully.
As Dina turned to go take the order back to the kitchen, Lore reached out and grabbed her arm. Her striking green eyes felt like broken glass pressing into Lore’s skin.
“Human, whatever you need, I’m certain you could have used a word,” she said with a hiss.
A little gasp escaped Lore’s mouth as she let go of the cat’s fluffy arm. “Oh, right. Sorry. I was just wondering where your bathrooms were?”
Dina rolled her eyes and pointed with the bubblegum pink pen to a hall on the other side of the large fireplace. “Down that hallway.” She looked Lore up and down with a less friendly attitude than earlier, then clicked away to the kitchen.
Crinkle said nothing as Lore slid out of the booth. He just took another drink of his coffee and looked out the window at the somber weather.
She walked as fast as she could, the strangers staring making her stomach uneasy. At the end of the short hallway was a single door with a toilet painted on a little piece of wood that swung when Lore opened the door. Inside were two stalls that almost kissed the top of the ceiling, a pair of sinks, and a mirror. No window? Are you kidding me?
One of the stall doors opened and the orange fox, the with the voice of a siren, sauntered out. She washed her paws in the dingy sinks. Then she applied some deep red lipstick and her blue eyes were the color of clear, cerulean waters, drawing Lore in when they made eye contact. “I’m used to the gazes of the folks in town, but the eyes of a human—” her laugh was coated with a thick layer of sweet honey, “never thought I’d get the honor.”
Lore gulped. She didn’t realize she was staring. “Sorry.” Then she adjusted her focus and scanned the walls for a hidden window.
The singer giggled and walked past Lore. Her sleek black dress glittered like a million stars in the grimy yellow light that flickered above them. “There’s one in the second stall, though you may have to climb on the toilet to reach it.” Her whisper tickled Lore’s ear.
Lore looked over her shoulder. “How did you know?”
The fox smiled. “I can spot someone dying to escape a bad date.”
First off, ew. “With all due respect,” Lore fidgeted with her braid, “I think you misunderstand my circumstances.”
The singing vixen’s hand hovered over the doorknob. “Then should I say I know the face of someone who wants to get away from…” she put a claw to her chin, “unpleasant circumstances.”
Lore smiled. This was good. This was someone who wasn’t itching to get as far from her like she carried the plague. “Would you happen to know where the market square is?” Lore added, her voice more desperate than she’d like.
She opened the door, and the smell of fried food and booze-filled Lore’s nose. Wait a minute. How did I not catch it before? The smell sent her mind tumbling after hearing a swish in the air and being hit over the head. Then the sensation of her weak body thudding against a scaled back sent a ghostly chill down her sprint.
“Human?” the vixen’s voice brought Lore away from the foggy thoughts. “If you can fit through the window, the square is south. Just walk round to the front of the building and take a left, and you’ll find yourself there.” She gave a wink and left Lore alone in the flickering light of the bathroom.
Now alone, Lore looked at the large mirror that spread over both sinks. Her large, round gray eyes stared back at her. I don’t even recognize myself. Her stomach growled. The temptation to go back and eat was pulling her to the door. Oh, yes, right back into the hands of some creepy opossum and to be gawked at like some hideous beast? Stupid human. Now she even sounded like the animals who kept talking down to her. She gripped the doorknob for a moment, her knuckles bright white. Then she shook herself out of whatever dark pit she found herself muddling in. Come on, get it together. We got a mouse to find and tracks to identify.
She opened the second stall and, sure enough, there was a long, thin window above the toilet. Already propped open. As Lore popped the screen out, she did her best to suck her stomach in as she climbed through. The metal frame scraped uncomfortably against her ribs. And the lean rectangle squeezed the air out of her. If there ever comes another time or place that we have to go through a window or tight space, I’m not volunteering. By some miracle, she actually pulled it off—then fell head-first into a pile of trash bags.
Lore groaned and the smell of rotten food that had sat out in the sun for two weeks forced itself upon her. She sat up and flicked a slimy tomato slice from her cheek. Fucking gross. She shot up and wiped off her lace-trimmed black dress and buttoned her dampened flannel.
She ran her hands ran alongside the brick wall, going toward a light poured out in front of her. A window. The same one she had been looking into just the night before. The hair on the back of her neck stood straight and tall like a threatened porcupine. A tingle shot from her neck, down her arms, and danced along her fingertips.
Lore let out a ragged breath. Gotta find Mathilde. Gotta get back to Mathilde. She peered in and saw Crinkle enjoying his dinner, admiring the sultry fox’s melodic voice on stage. Her meal sat across from him with a to-go box sitting beside her cup of water. Her stomach growled. The fresh fruit looked delicious, and Lore could feel her mouth salivate. Focus.
She turned her back pressed against the wet brick and slowly slid down so her knees met her chest. Find Mathilde, identify whatever is left of the tracks, then go home and eat. She nodded to herself and peeked out of the alley. With no one around, she did as the singing vixen said. She took a left and stayed straight on that path.
Sure enough, Lore caught sight of the bright, orange well. She felt a spark of joy. She’d found the square. But the spark of joy quickly disappeared when she saw the numb figure of Mathilde standing in the pouring rain looking at the spot where the alligator had been found.
SEVENTEEN
Mathilde turned, peeking over her shoulder, her eyes bloodshot. “Doesn’t even look like there was a murder scene anymore. It’s all gone.” Her laugh was cradled in bereavement.
The mouse’s display made Lore feel like her own heart had tumbled from the cupboard, like a teacup and chipped—as if hearts were also made of such fragile materials.
She walked over. “Sorry, I couldn’t have gotten here sooner,” she murmured, kneeling down to the animal’s eye level.
“It’s okay, Human.” Mathilde wiped her snout. “I shouldn’t have left you in such a hurry.”
Lore nodded as lighting cracked across the sky. “Did you see any tracks?”
Mathilde shoved her hands in her pockets and walked over to the bush. “No, the spotless scene made me freeze up.” Her gaze was downcast as she sheepishly admitted, “Embarrassing, really.”
But it isn’t. It’s totally understandable.
The cloudy sky’s large puffs of gray and black blanketed over—not one—but both moons’ light.
In the darkness, Lore could now only see the faint figure of her companion peeking under the branches of the hydrangea bush. The mouse turned and shook her head. Lore saw soft shadows on Mathilde’s face thanks to the fire beginning to flicker alive behind the glass cages of the street lamps. The mouse’s face had melted into an even more disconnected expression. And her ears wilted like sad flower petals on a hot summer’s day.
Lore walked over and peeked. The soft silt devoured her fingertips, and the tracks weren’t obvious anymore, but she narrowed her gaze and kept looking. The circumference around the bushes was wet, but further back it, seemed dryer. Lore crawled under the cover of the branches of the hydrangea.
“Human, the rain washed them away,” Mathilde sighed. “We’ll just have to find another lead, or hope one will fall in our laps tomorrow morning.”
Lore ignored the words and reached further in toward the center of the bush, where damp dirt covered the area around the shrub’s heartwood. She scanned the ground, but she could hardly see anything. She reached out, frantically searching the ground by touch for any indentation of a print. Then it happened. Her fingertips dipped gently down into the earth. Yes! Lady Luck is on our side today.
“Mathilde!” Lore called. “Mathilde, I found them!”
The mouse’s hand suddenly lifted the branches. Then she walked under the bush and stood beside her.
“They’re here!” Lore cheered. “Can you see them? I’m having a hard time, if I’m honest.”
Mathilde gasped. “Human!” She placed a small hand on Lore’s shoulder. “That’s it!” Relief washed away any previous doubt in the animal’s voice. She then peeked out of the shrub and whistled at a streetlamp.
“What are you doing?” Lore asked, resting her dirt-covered hands on her thighs.
“Going to get us a light.”
She tilted her head.
Mathilde let out a huff and crossed her arms. “Oh, they’re just being shy.” She insisted as she parted the branches of the hydrangea bush.
Lore sat there for a moment, and her ears detected Mathilde whispering something like there was something listening to her out in the square.
No. Someone.
Lore crouched and shuffled over to push the branches out of the way, to peek between the parted green and pink hydrangea growth and see what nonsense the mouse had to be up to.
There, in the middle of the empty market, only accompanied by closed wooden stands, Mathilde stood. Her hands sat on her hips, her ears flat against her head, and her finger pointed to the iron street lamp. “Come on, now,” the mouse prompted. Then she walked behind the lamp and gave a little push. “When did you get so heavy?”
The streetlamp stood solid. Not even the sloping u-shaped metal adorning the iron stem budged.
Lore tilted her head and continued to watch. She’ll never be able to move that. Her face scrunched as she watched the mouse struggle against the cold slippery alloy base. Wouldn’t it just be easier to open the glass and light a twig on fire or something?
Mathilde lost her balance against the slick cobblestones beneath her feet. Then gave a scowl to the lamp. “Come on, you! We need a light.” Her voice was riddled with cynicism.
Silence.
“How silly of me,” the mouse said softly, as if to herself. She adjusted the oversized top hat so it wasn’t blocking her vision, and with her hands on her hips, she changed her tone. She clasped her hands in front of her as if she were now as shy as she claimed the lamppost to be. “Grian, will you please come this way? We are in need of assistance.” Her voice now sounded like a child asking for a sweet treat just before bedtime.
The street lamp’s curved limbs straightened and the iron body bent down to look at Mathilde. The fire behind the glass flickered rapidly.
Was it talking to her?
“Right this way.” Mathilde motioned for the street lamp to follow her, and it did.
The lamp left its corner and its metallic feet clinked against the stone path.
Lore stumbled further back into the damp dirt. What was next? A self-pouring teapot to serve me?
As Mathilde lifted the branches of the shrub, the streetlamp poked its head under.
Lore did her best not to jump or act startled, but that didn’t stop a rush of needle pricks down her spine.
“Human, do you see the prints better? What are they?” Mathilde called.
While it was brighter under the bush, she never really learned animal tracks. S’pose Mathilde can only lift the branches as high as she was. Lore crawled through the bush and came out on the other end. No way I’m crawling past a live fire.
She walked ‘round the bush to Mathilde. “Hey, why don’t I hold the branches up? I might be able to lift it high enough so that the street lamp can shimmy under more.”
The mouse nodded.
Lore grabbed the bundle of hydrangea growth in her hands, and her friend scampered under the shrub. With a single lift, the street lamp pushed its top half under the growth of the shrub.
“So, what kinda print is it?” Lore asked.
“Fox,” Mathilde called back, as she shooed the iron lamp back out to the cobblestone path.
“A fox?” Lore asked aloud, her mind trailing back to the singing vixen from Dina’s Pub.
The adventurer tapped her foot and the sound of raindrops thudded against the top hat. “We can think more on this in a dryer spot, and away from any more eyes.” She grabbed Lore’s wrist and pulled her along.
Lore turned her head and watched as the streetlamp paced back to its corner. The echoes of clinks with each step carried in the air as the two made their way from the square.
What eyes? There was no one else in the market square besides us?
EIGHTEEN
Lore stood in front of the door and watched the mice sisters who were all flocked around the hearth she’d investigated earlier. Minifred was in front of the coffee table, her gaze fixed on the intense golden flames, and the silver-furred twins sat in front of the large rocker.
Lore rocked back and forth on her heels. A fox was with me in the hydrangea bush. Was the singing vixen from Dina’s capable of murder? She crossed her arms and drummed her fingers against the thick green fabric. I could hardly picture a dainty fox like her approaching and killing Gannon, especially in such a manner. Lore heard a teapot scream, and her eyes bounced around the open living area of the grand, yellow manor. Perhaps not the murderer, but maybe a witness?
Lore felt velvety fur kiss her forearm.
“Oh, sorry, human,” Mildred muttered as she scurried away from Lore, her cinnamon fur sparking with life in front of the warm glow of the fireplace’s light. Teacups and teapots rattled against the shining silver tea tray in the mouse’s small hands. She set the tray on the dark coffee table and poured steaming liquid into the twins’ cups with care.
Then Mathilde took the teapot from her sister with ease and filled the remaining four cups. It went so smoothly, it must be a part of their nighttime ritual.
Lore noticed each cup had its own pattern.
The twins were the only ones with cups that matched. They were taupe with a string of bright white dandelions wrapped just under the rim. Minifred’s had a cluster of vivid pink star-shaped flowers. Lore didn’t know the plant’s name, but the center of the blooms each had about a dozen long thin feelers. Mildred took a deep drink from a cup with lavender strands woven around the circumference. The braided purple flowers really popped against the snow-colored cup.
There were two unclaimed mugs. The left had what seemed to resemble pinkish dragon scales rather than petals to follow the floral theme of the other cups. The center of the plant was a tawny bulb that got darker towards its center. Mathilde picked it up with her left hand and the last with her right.
She offered it to Lore. “Here, Human.”
Lore would recognize this bright yellow flower anywhere. Daffodils. Dancing in a nonexistent spring breeze.
Just as she felt the warmth of the teacup starting to seep into her fingers, Maybel whimpered, “But—but that’s Father’s cup.”
Mathilde bit her lip, not turning to face her sisters. “And I think he’d want his guest to enjoy a cup of tea.” For once, the brash adventurer’s voice had no fight in it. Even at the murder scene, her words had determination, but now, no jokes or sass colored the tone. She sounded utterly and completely drained.
Lore watched as Maybel gave a worry-filled look to Minifred.
The oldest sister reluctantly pulled her eyes away from the crackling fire. Her silver eyes made Lore’s hair on her arm stand straight up. She began to nod slowly as if Mathilde’s words had a delay and had only just now fallen on her ears. The coal-colored mouse’s absent gaze bounced between her sisters, then landed on Lore before returning to the hearth. She waved a hand nonchalantly. “Mathilde’s right. It would be important to Father that we keep his hospitable spirit alive.”
The room was quiet and Lore took a sip of the steaming golden liquid as the mice swam in their thoughts and feelings. Sweet honey kissed her tongue, and the floral notes of chamomile warmed first her chest, then her stomach. She took in a deep breath and thought of her time in Charmsend thus far. The town is absolutely adorable. The residents are peculiar, but the little details of magic and wonder feel like they’re from a dream.
Mathilde pulled a chair out at the table close to the kitchen and pointed to the seat beside her. “Human?”
Lore didn’t take long to settle herself.
The room stayed relatively quiet aside from the whispers of Gannon’s tales from around the hearth, and a pattern emerged. The mice would fill their bellies with laughter, then a sudden onslaught of tears would follow.
This is what Death does. Gifts the heavy burden of carrying a legacy to the survivors.
Mathilde rested her head on a hand propped on the table. “Human,” she whispered. “Tomorrow is the ceremony where we will celebrate Gannon’s life by burying him in the cold dirt.” Her eyes looked like delicate green glass that could break at any moment. “It’ll be in the morning, but then after we can, uh—” she wiped the tip of her nose with her red sleeve. “We’ll go question the orange siren.” She waved her fingers to add an air of fun, but it was clear the mouse was feeling everything but.
