Down the Well, page 13
Lore swallowed the rock in her throat at the sight of her friend standing without any support.
“For Gannon, I brought a storybook he wrote himself for me shortly after arriving here at the cost of my biological parents’ lives.” She looked back at her sisters, her eyes begging for one of them to join her. But Minifred was too busy consoling the others to notice, and the remaining sisters were too distracted by their own pain to help their youngest sibling.
Lore felt her legs pull her toward the grave and Mathilde. She knelt down and rubbed her hand along the mouse’s back.
Mathilde continued speaking through ragged breaths. “It has brought me comfort through the years, and comfort is what I want Gannon to have in his next life.” She slowly lowered her box into the grave before promptly joining her sisters, hand in hand, as Crinkle closed out the ceremony.
“Per tradition, the one who closed the sacred tunnel shall be the one to cover the soul’s shell with earth.”
Before Lore could put two and two together, a snap of Crinkle’s fingers made the weight of a shovel’s shaft drop in her hands. A fresh pile of dirt erupted from the ground beside the open grave.
Her gaze met Crinkle’s through the fluttering lace between them, then drifted back to the mice sisters. I shouldn’t be doing this. “I can’t,” she mouthed.
Mathilde’s voice cracked through the air. “You can, and you will.”
Her fingers gripped the shovel on instinct, though her legs shuddered. The first heap of dirt felt like mountains weighing her arms down. Following that, she tried to move as quickly as she could. Partially to get the glaring eyes of the townsfolk off of her, partially to end this drawn-out funeral for the hospitable sisters, and partially to get away from Crinkle. When the last bit of earth was smoothed over the grave, the lace circle was lifted, and the animal folk rushed forward to embrace the grieving family.
Lore watched from the side.
Crinkle’s figure loomed close by. “It’s over now. He is free to begin the next part of the cycle.”
She furrowed a brow and stabbed the shovel into the ground between her and the well-dressed opossum.
But it isn’t over. His murderer still roams free.
* * *
The setting sun cast an amber glow on the fields of the valley. In the distance, nestled amidst the hills, Lore could see the lights of the town aglow. Pink fire.
“Mathilde.” Her voice sounded like that of a stranger. Certainly not her own. Her hand muscles throbbed, still feeling the strain of shoveling from earlier in the afternoon.
The mouse in question was sitting in silence beside the stone grave marker, her head leaning on it. She had been this way since the crowd retreated back to the safety of the town.
Lore could still hear Lyudmilla’s gentle warning before she, too, had left them.
“Crinkle didn’t want to frighten the town,” the wolf had said, “but a Grayshade very well could have broken through. I’ve seen them in action. Please don’t dwell here long after dark.”
“Mathilde,” she repeated. Her pleas were tight as the sun sank behind the twisted, mangled tree line that cradled the valley.
Large green eyes met hers. “Just a little longer, Human.” Mathilde’s voice faltered at the end.
“We don’t have much longer. You heard Lydumilla.”
Mathilde folded her hands atop the cold stone and tilted her head toward the forest line. “I’m not ready,” she insisted through bitter tears.
Lore’s knees hit the soft earth beside the mouse. “And you may never be.”
“He was there as I watched my parents torn limb from limb, you know.”
Lore’s jaw tightened. Not the time or place I was expecting this story.
“I watched as he and Lyudmilla fought back the altered spirits.”
If Lore squinted hard enough, she swore she could see the memory playing out on the glassy surface of Mathilde’s bloodshot eyes.
“My parents assured us before we left Taper all those years ago that the rumors were just that. Rumors. And that this was a new start for us. For our family.”
“I’m so sorry.” Lore leaned closer. If Mathilde decided she wanted a hug, she was there.
The mouse wiped her snout, and as her mouth opened, a guttural wail erupted from beyond the iron gates of the graveyard.
As bad as she felt about rushing her friend, she had to. “It’s time, Mathilde,” Lore insisted. “We have to go.”
For the first and only time during their acquaintance and unlikely friendship, the mouse’s face scrunched with panic as she grabbed Lore’s hand.
Without further delay, they rushed back to the enchanted pink fire dancing in the lanterns of Charmsend just beyond the hills.
TWENTY
Mathilde and Lore watched the stretching and shrinking shadows of the animal folk that moved along the stone ground. The market square was alive with dancing bodies and a blazing fire in the center of the square. The lanterns were even swaying from side to side where they stood.
“Celebration of his life,” the mouse uttered amidst the deafening music.
A smoky scent filled the air, carrying a hint of pepper and garlic. Lore scanned the crowd to find the source, and she saw a spitfire roaring with about a dozen chickens being roasted. Her stomach growled.
The mouse’s stomach echoed the sound. Mathilde looked at her and grinned, scratching behind her ear. “I s’pose Gannon would want me to eat.” She led Lore to the wooden stalls displaying pre-plated food. They each took a serving and found somewhere quiet to sit, though the music could still be faintly heard.
“I don’t think I see your sisters here,” Lore said before she took a bite out of her juicy drumstick.
Mathilde shook her head as she picked at an apple dumpling. “They are probably at home. Trying to make the night as routine as possible.”
Lore pursed her lips, then quietly asked, “Do you want to turn in for the night, too?”
Her companion took a large bite, tapping the fork to her lips as she chewed and considered her options. “No, I don’t think we will.” The flat reply was thoughtful, almost dreamy, but didn’t leave room for argument.
Lore was too busy gnawing a corn cob to reply immediately.
Mathilde’s eyes drifted to the hydrangea bush they crawled under just last night.
“Fox prints, right?” she asked, as if they both hadn’t burned the knowledge in their minds the moment the mouse identified them.
Lore nodded. “Yup.”
Mathilde took the last bite of her dumpling. “Let’s go tangle with a certain auburn siren.”
Lore sighed, quickly got up to toss her paper plate in the trash, and followed behind Mathilde, who was already making her way down the path to the north side of the town. “Wait for me!” she called, then took a rather large bite of the sprinkled donut she’d saved for last.
Mathilde’s figure halted on the road, now devoured by murk and gloom. A crisp breeze blew, and the more north they walked, the quieter the music and banter became. This end of the city was dull and gray compared to the vivid colors of the market square. The only flash of color was the flickering hot pink neon sign that drew them in like a pair of moths.
As the door groaned open, a familiar hypnotizing voice fluttered in the air like monarch butterflies floating on a warm breeze at the start of summer.
“Of all the money that e’er I had, I spent it in good company.
And all the harm I’ve ever done, alas, it was to none but me.”
Lore followed behind Mathilde as she wove between the empty seats and tables of the pub. They could hear the murmurs of the other waitresses sitting at the booths counting their tips from the night.
“And all I’ve done for want of wit.
To memory, now, I can’t recall.”
The vixen’s hands gripped the mic from both sides, held together between her paws. Her eyes closed, probably mentally singing for no crowd, but Lore and Mathilde watched.
“So, fill to me the parting glass.
Good night and joy be to you all.”
The fox’s voice rang low like a deep toll of a bell.
The sound of heels against the aged wood floor sent a shiver down Lore’s back. She peeked over her shoulder and saw Dina linger around the door. With a flip of a switch, the pink neon glow dissipated from the window behind them, leaving only darkened streets before Lore.
“So, fill to me the parting glass,
And drink a health whate’er befalls.
Then gently rise and softly call.”
Mathilde whispered the lyrics along with the sultry voice of the fox filling the empty pub.
“Good night and joy be to you all.”
Lore looked to the back corner where Crinkle and she had sat. The booth was empty, but just looking in that direction gave Lore the heebie-jeebies.
The singer took the mic from the stand and put it close to her ruby-painted lips.
“Of all the comrades that e’er I had, they’re sorry for my going away.
“And all the sweethearts that e’er I had, they’d wish me one more day to stay.”
Mathilde slowly clapped.
The vixen’s eyes shot open, and she stood like a deer in headlights on the stage.
“Lovely as always, Tansy,” Mathilde commented.
The fox placed the mic back on its stand. “It wasn’t the end, you know,” she said, yearning chiming clear.
“Well,” Mathilde’s eyes drifted down to the grain of the round pine table. “We were hoping to have a word with ya.”
The singer’s ears flattened.
In fear or aggression?
“Regarding?” the performer asked.
“Some tracks we found the other night,” Mathilde said.
Tansy’s fluffy, white-tipped tail flicked from side to side like an agitated cat, though her eyes still sparkled. “And what’s that have to do with me?”
“Hopefully nothing.” Mathilde’s voice still carried a ball and chain.
Lore’s ears heard thick-heeled black boots clicking on the floor, getting closer with each step.
Dina pulled out a chair and rummaged around in her pockets for her pack of smokes. As she lit a cigarette, she took a long hit and plopped down in the chair beside her. “Hey, human.” She tilted her head back and blew a drag of gray smoke upwards. Then her feline eyes locked with Lore’s. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”
Mathilde’s ears twitched. She heard that comment. But her gaze remained on the stage.
“Fox tracks,” Mathilde divulged. “In a bush with a perfect view of the murder scene.”
The singer’s head tilted. “How peculiar.” Tansy sat on the edge of the rounded stage. Her shimmering sapphire dress washed over her legs that dangled, barely touching the floor.
The waitresses paused counting their money—no, taels, Dina had called them—from a hard night’s work. Listening to what would surely be spread as town gossip the following day or so.
“Tansy?” Lore asked, drawing the fox’s attention away from Mathilde. “Did you see who killed Gannon?” Maybe if we frame her as being a witness instead of a suspect, she’ll be more willing to cooperate.
Her companion’s tail brushed against Lore’s leg as if to say, well done.
The fox leaned back, resting her body’s weight on her arms as she stared up at the pale glint of yellow lights hanging above. “How I wish I had.” Tansy’s head shot back to the table. Cerulean eyes burned brightly. A deep-seated rage that not even the most adept blacksmith would be able to hammer out. “I’d make sure they’d pay for the atrocity that invited Grief to all of our doorsteps.”
Mathilde’s hand was steady on the round pine table as she let out an exhausted groan. She wiped her other hand down her face. “You’re the only fox in town.” Her words were true, but bobbed around like a fishing lure atop still water. “No one is feeling Grief’s greedy hold like my sisters and me.” Mathilde was pleading at this point. “Tansy, please.”
Dina snuffed out the butt of her cigarette in the orange glass ashtray. “How do you know the tracks were made the night of the murder?”
Mathilde clicked her tongue against her teeth.
Lore shrugged, then spoke. “We don’t, but the day the body was found, I was in that bush and with what Crinkle alluded to, I wasn’t alone in there.”
Dina cackled, but Mathilde’s eyes were still fixated on the fox sitting on the stage.
“So, what you’re saying is the human was in the bush with the killer and didn’t know it?!” She flipped her lighter open. “And Crinkle saw the killer, but didn’t pull them out of the bush to let us townsfolk have our way with ‘em?”
Mathilde hung her head. “This was pointless.”
“It’s pointless because you’ve no direction, and no knowin’,” Dina said.
“Yeah.” Mathilde’s ears drooped. “Gannon didn’t leave behind much for me to follow.”
The calico cat slid her lighter across the table to the mouse. “You know what I know, though?”
“Hm?” Mathilde picked up the lighter, examining it.
“Tansy worked her entire shift that night, not once leaving the stage. Not for food or even for a bathroom break.”
Lore leaned in as Dina’s voice lowered. “And besides, she came home with me.”
Mathilde flicked the lighter. The lid popped up, and a yellow flame danced. Then the mouse closed the steel lighter and her palm around it as she leaped from the chair. “I think we have all we need from here. Let’s go, Human.”
Lore hesitated to stand up, the glowering green eyes of the calico cat following her as she followed Mathilde. She pulled the door closed behind her, and she watched as Mathilde paced back and forth, flicking the lighter open and closed.
“What is it?” She hoped the question would make Mathilde stop.
“Dina was telling the truth.”
“How can you be certain?” Lore found the thought escaped her mouth before she could really ask herself if she wanted to ask it or not.
Mathilde held up the lighter with a grin. “This symbol is painted on the lighter.” The mouse tried as best she could to shove it in Lore’s face, though their height difference made that a little tough. Still, she showed off the overlapping circles of the infinity knot from the library. “It’s the mark of the Charmsend Historical Society.” Then she shoved the lighter into a pocket of her pleated skirt.
Charmsend Historical Society. The words sent Lore back to the night she came here. Not entirely sure how or why. But the imagery of a small shadow, a reflection in the window of Dina’s, stuck in her mind. Where do I fit in all this? Do I even fit?
“So,” Lore whispered as she followed Mathilde in the dreary grey streets. “From what I gather, the CHS is an anonymous group of villagers? What do they do?”
Mathilde didn’t look over her shoulder as she responded. “They gather and share the truths of the town. In the Charmsend Compendium.” Her voice was as stale as Crinkle’s green and purple suit. “And it appears we now know who the initiator is.” Each word dripped with an early sense of victory as they fell from Mathilde’s mouth. Lore only hoped she wasn’t getting too far ahead of herself.
The two stopped in front of the frail exterior of the town’s library.
Lore’s stomach churned as the image of the herculean snake slithered to the front of her mind. “Mathilde. Do we have a plan?”
The mouse’s brow furrowed. “Human, by now I thought you knew I don’t plan.” She forced a laugh.
Lore tried to stifle the fear crawling its way up her throat. “Right.”
Her companion opened the door, and silence fell on them, worse than before. No ghostly murmurs were heard this time. Not even their footsteps made a sound as they walked between bookshelves.
Lore’s heartbeat was the only sound that echoed in her ears. Mathilde might not have a plan, but if things go wrong, we may need one. She nodded, agreeing with herself, as she followed the mouse down to the bottom level. Her eyes scanned the walls as they walked down the sloped stairwell. There was a whaling harpoon she didn’t notice before. That could work. But how would we get to it? Let alone get it off the wall mount?
Her jaw tightened. The questions and possibilities raced in around her head. Fighting for which worry was dreadful enough to be worthy of taking center stage.
Mathilde sat down in a seat facing the hearth that always seemed to be just the right amount of warmth. Instinctively, Lore sat across from her, her back being soothed by the golden heat.
The mouse took Dina’s lighter out and flicked it open. The flame swayed back and forth. Mathilde repeated this a handful of times and, sure enough, a groan escaped from the thick rafters above.
Chills like the first crisp wind of autumn tingled down Lore’s arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Petra.
Mathilde’s eyes did not waver. They held firm on the burning fire sitting in the hearth.
The snake’s enormous body lowered, and she hung that way, looking down at the two of them. “What bringsss you in tonight?” she asked with her head tilted in curiosity.
Mathilde, not one to waste time, flipped the lid of the lighter shut. “Just need to ask you a few questions.”
Lore’s eyes darted between both animals.
Petra’s tongue flickered. “What quessstions would thossse be?”
Lore thought the librarian said the question more as a dare than genuine curiosity.
“What were you and Gannon arguing about the night of his murder?” Mathilde’s eyes stayed forward, not glancing once at the large reptile. Her hand continued mindlessly opening and closing the lighter.
Petra’s laugh was cool like a burst of air from a deep freeze. “Where did you hear such a thing?”
Though Mathilde was maybe the height of a human toddler, Lore felt like she had shrunken down to the size of a dwarf hamster next to Petra. Get it together. Come on. But every muscle in her body felt frozen by the snake’s chilly laughter.
