Down the Well, page 9
“This human is under my protection.”
She looked to see Mathilde sniffling back tears and snot, moving to stand between Lore and the crowd that appeared like they’d gladly see the human laying next to the alligator, equally dead.
Sir Crinkle commanded the crowd as he waved his staff in the air. “It’s clear to me we have some investigating to do.” His voice softened as he looked down again at Lore. “And it appears there is more than one stranger in Charmsend.” His voice felt like little frost-tipped fangs dancing along her skin.
When no one left, he bellowed, “Go ahead. Leave, the lot of you!”
Thunder cracked across the sky as if to emphasize his point.
As the onlookers cleared out, Lore noticed the vivid orange bricks of the well about seven or so feet away also had a fresh red splatter across them. Her brow pulled tight, and she mustered enough strength to gain her feet.
Mathilde was still by her side, and the other mice sisters gathered close by.
Crinkle looked over at them. “Girls, feel free to head home. Lyudmilla and I can handle the funeral preparations from here.”
A wolf Lore hadn’t noticed before peeked out from behind the towering opossum. The wolf had long, snowy fur that fell in front of her pale pink eyes.
The four sisters didn’t need to hear much else and quickly turned, heading back home with their heads hanging and tears flowing. All but Mathilde.
The self-proclaimed adventurer stood her ground, her face like a stoic statue. “No. We need to focus on who did this.”
As the wolf that Crinkle called Lyudmilla began picking up pieces of the dismembered body, a smile twisted along the opossum’s snout, making his whiskers twitch. “You’re right. We do need to find out who did this,” he agreed.
“We can’t waste time either,” Mathilde began drumming her fingers against her fuzzy chin.
“You know,” Sir Crinkle purred, “what better way to win the townsfolk over with the human’s innocence than the two of you launching a novice investigation?”
Mathilde’s eyes narrowed. “Novice?” Her voice was flat and obviously displeased by the unkind and condescending adjective.
“Precisely, my dear.” He placed a hand on her and Lore’s backs to move them along. “Lyudmilla and I will do all the heavy lifting.”
“Where do we even start?” Lore heard the words fall from her lips before she even had a chance to think about saying them.
The opossum hummed and leaned forward on his cane. “Everyone is a suspect.”
Mathilde whipped around and gave the scene one last look before scampering over to the fallen top hat. The small creature stood there, heavy silence weighing on those left in the square. Then she knelt down to pick it up. “Come on, Human.” Her fingers gripped the now blood-stained accessory in her hands tightly as she walked past Lore. “We have work to do.”
Lore didn’t wait to catch up with her. She looked back over her shoulder while her feet took her after Mathilde, taking in everything she could. Lyudmilla’s sad pink eyes as she picked up the body, the blood on the well. The footprints under the bush. All these things rushed around her head as the well-dressed opossum gave her a gentle wave. She turned forward, but could still feel them both watching her until they disappeared from sight.
FOURTEEN
As she followed the red-clad mouse through the streets of the dreary Charmsend, Lore’s stomach did flips and stunts like a trapeze artist. Any animal they came across steered so clear of her as though she had a giant, cartoonish cloud of green smelly smog around her.
“Mathilde?” she whispered.
“Hm?”
“I know I’m sort of an outsider, but why are they being so weird?” She tried to keep her voice low and smile at anyone who would keep eye contact with her—not that there were many. They kept dashing to the opposite side of the road every time they spotted her.
The mouse’s fingers tightened on the brim of the large top hat. “It’s not just because you’re an outsider. It’s because you and your kind have been long-thought to be extinct.”
There was that word again. Extinct.
Mathilde’s nose twitched as she looked at her kindly. “Did you really not hear them say that?”
At this point, Lore had felt like Death was harassing her—stalking her. It seemed everywhere she turned, the word was there lying in wait for her.
“Many,” Mathilde continued speaking freely, leading Lore through the puddled streets, “most likely see your very existence as a bad omen.”
Lore swallowed hard. Her throat felt dry despite all the dampness coating the air. “Oh.”
Her companion’s green eyes met hers. “But, don’t worry. I know you aren’t.” She also gave a reassuring smile that put Lore’s twisting nerves at ease.
“So, they believe me to be the killer? They must think a lot of me.” Lore tried to force a casual tone, but the words still stumbled out a bit awkward. “That gator was as thick as an oak tree and maybe as tall as one too. How do they think I managed to take him down?”
Mathilde scoffed, still hugging the top hat. “That gator’s name is—was—Gannon. And he was nothing but a gentle giant.”
Lore looked ahead. “So, how do five mice come to live under the same roof as a reptilian gentle giant?”
The mouse pinched the fur on her snout. “We don’t have the luxury for the long version, but he adopted us.”
Lore said nothing. How does an alligator raise mice?
Of all the charming buildings in town, seemingly to sprung from a pop-up fairytale book, Lore was not expecting to be standing in front of one so run down.
She scratched where her dampened hairline met the nape of her neck. “What is this place?”
“An important one,” Mathilde answered, pushing the battered door open.
Lore chewed her bottom lip, not sure what dive bar they were about to walk into. As she stepped over the threshold, a strange sensation lingered over her body. As if she had stepped through a block of jelly.
Firelight danced, seeming to have minds of their own. The soft glow eliminated the darkness inside the building and made it easy for Lore to regain her senses. Soon, she felt her jaw softly drop as she saw rows and rows of bookshelves. There was also an open second floor that hugged the walls of the building, with even more bookshelves and artifacts encased in glass above them.
The only things that followed them were the twirling flames above their heads and the ghostly murmurs that sounded close enough for Lore to reach out and grab them. What would a murmur even look like? Would it be slimy in my palm, or would the murmurs form solidly like a smooth river stone in my hand?
“A library?” Lore said, as she slowly spun around, watching books flutter back to their shelf like butterflies. The inside was so immaculate and yet the only turning heads were those of stone busts and animal heads mounted to the walls. Every so often, a shelf of the wooden bookcase would turn like an invisible someone was spinning it in their search for whatever knowledge that brought them here.
Faint whispers landed in her ear, telling Lore that she and Mathilde weren’t alone. Yet her eyes told her they were completely alone.
“Well, would you look at that,” a stone bust of a bowtie-wearing badger said, squinting at Lore.
A moose head on the opposite wall, wearing a monocle, gave a nod. “I never thought I’d lay eyes on their kind again.”
“Not just a library,” Mathilde grinned as she took Lore’s hand and led her down a curved staircase to a bottom floor.
Away from the speaking stone statues with bow ties, away from spinning bookshelves, away from mounted animals wearing monocles. With each step, Lore heard the echoes of the metal bounce off the brick walls, and at the bottom of the stairwell, displayed above a rather-long fireplace, stood a massive circular stone.
“This is where Gannon would hold important CHS meetings,” the mouse explained. She walked over to one of the many bookshelves.
Lore felt like a rope was pulling her closer and closer to the stone circle, tugging her forward from its anchor around her waist.
With a closer look, Lore noticed that the stone was being held up with the help of sturdy iron spikes striking through pre-made holes. At least they had to be pre-made. Otherwise, the impact would have caused splits and cracks to erupt. She paused and furrowed her brows. How would I have known that?
Lore folded her arms over each other, as she ignored her passing question, and admired the craftsmanship. The rough surface of the stone had faint carvings. A plus sign divided the stone, and each section featured an engraving of an animal’s silhouette. Behind the animal, little embossed leaves fluttered, each segment their own hue of peeling paint. “What is this?” Lore called to Mathilde, who was carrying a stack of books taller than her back to a table in the center of the room.
“Shhh,” an unseen individual insisted.
It sent a shudder down Lore’s spine as she pulled a seat out next to Mathilde. “What’s the thing with that rock?” se whispered.
Her companion began sorting the stacks of books into two piles. “It’s the wheel of seasons,” she said flatly as she flipped through the pages of a worn purple leather book. “The plus sign is supposed to represent the beginning of the Mothertree’s roots, and the animals on the stone are those who were chosen to protect the sacred tree.”
Lore sat on her hands and looked around at the floating books and her eyes followed the curved metal staircase they came down on. She could still hear the laughter between the statue and the wall mount echoing.
“Why are we the only ones here?” Lore asked, then quickly added, “I mean this place is so…” She tried really hard to muster a word appropriate to describe the magic she was witnessing, but all that came out was, “cool.”
Mathilde stopped flipping through the pages and a grin lifted her round rosy cheek. “We aren’t the only ones here.”
Lore furrowed her brow. She blinked in disbelief. “I’m sorry, what?”
Mathilde chuckled a bit and laid the open book in front of Lore. “So, since you are gonna be stuck here for a bit of time—”
“Wait, you can’t just say that so damn casually. Who else is here?” Lore pleaded, looking around the room.
Mathilde let out a sigh, bringing her tiny hands and rubbing her temples.
“Oh, right. I’m sorry. Don’t know where my manners went. I shouldn’t have cursed in front of you.” Lore picked at the skin around her nails.
Mathilde’s weary expression shifted as she started laughing so hard that she held her gut to keep from bursting.
“What’s so funny?!” Lore demanded.
“Shhh…”
Another spine-chilling reminder for Lore to mind her tone.
Lore shot up, sending the chair scratching hard across the wooden floor. “What’s so funny?” she whispered through gritted teeth.
“You,” Mathilde admitted as she wiped away a single tear from the corner of her eye. The mouse then hopped atop the table and leaned on the split stack of books. “Human, I am this size because I am a mouse, not because I am a child.”
Lore sucked on the inside of her cheek and quietly sat back down. “You could have just led with that, you know,” she grumbled, pulling herself closer to the table and the book Mathilde had laid out for her.
Mathilde rolled her eyes. “Are all your kind so sensitive?”
Lore said nothing but tried to give it a good thought. Her kind. My kind? Shadowy figures formed in her head, but she couldn’t see their faces. Were we all as sensitive? She couldn’t answer. The unanswered question left a pit in her stomach.
“So, as I was saying,” Mathilde began, still standing on the table, “you’re stuck here for a while. Whatever gods you believe in, or don’t believe in, something brought you here, Human.”
Another shadowy figure flashed in Lore’s mind. This one had large, piercing golden eyes. Tall ears atop its head and waved a bracelet at her. Who was that? Because whoever that is who brought her here. “If you must know, a less divine being brought me here,” she said, the bitterness leaving a bad taste in her mouth.
Mathilde cocked her head to the side. “Human, do you know how you got here?”
Lore’s palms felt sweaty. She looked away from Mathilde to the black and white sketch on the pages of the book in front of her. “All I remember is a shadow with big ears and gilded golden eyes.”
Mathilde smacked her lips together. “Odd choice of words, but okay.” Her hand drifted to the image Lore had just been looking at. “This is what we’re taught about your kind.”
The image didn’t make her feel better. It didn’t look like a human at all. The creature drawn stood hunched over a dead rabbit who wore a tattered suit. The supposed human had long, dark, stringy hair, and bright glowing eyes that looked like fire lit from brimstone. It had fangs poking upwards from a prominent underbite. It also had absurdly long dark talons that appeared to be its primary way of attack, likely used to cut open the rabbit’s soft belly.
“This is awful,” Lore muttered.
Mathilde sat on the edge of the table, her legs swinging back and forth. She grabbed Lore’s hands. “I know, but it seems your obsidian claws have been filed down to just nubs.”
Lore yanked her hand from Mathilde’s furry hands. “Rude.” She rubbed the tips of her chewed fingernails.
Mathilde flipped the page. “Well, now that you got a good hard look at how the townsfolk see you, let’s look at something less depressing, shall we?”
Lore shuddered. The drawing’s gleaming eyes were already burned into her brain.
“Shhhhhhh!” The annoyed shushing had become a part of the ambiance at this point.
Lore let out a sigh. “What else is there to know?” she asked.
Mathilde scoffed. “You’ve been dropped into a strange and mysterious otherland, and you ask, ‘what else is there to know?’ ” The mouse clicked her tongue and shook a finger. “You’re lucky you have me. I’d hate to think about how lost you’d be on your own right now.”
Then Mathilde took a book off the stack closest to Lore and began flipping through the pages. “Something else you need to know is that there are folks who can control magic, called Wielders, and those who can’t.”
Lore wanted to bang her head against the table. For fuck’s sake, this was about to be such a boring history lesson. “Why is it those with powers always get some sort of badass name, but the normal folks are defined by their lack of kick-ass-ness?”
Mathilde snapped the book shut, its blue cover staring back up at them, and ran her fingers through tufts of her gray fur. “Listen, Human.”
“Shhh.” This time, it hissed louder than the dancing fire in the hearth behind the two.
Lore looked to the rafters of the ceiling and saw an enormous shadow clinging to the wooden trusses.
Mathilde didn’t notice, or just didn’t care, as she slammed the book on the table and pointed an angry finger at Lore’s face. “I just saw the dead body of the alligator who raised me, shredded to ribbons in the town’s market square. In his death, I am tethered to you, and I made a promise to keep you alive!” Her whiskers twitched in agitation—or was it frustration? “While I know this may seem tedious and useless information,” she leaned closer, “it could save your life.”
Lore gulped as the stinging sensation pricked the back of her throat, and her heart softened as she saw the mouse fighting hard against welling tears in the corner of her green eyes.
“Mathilde—”
Suddenly, a deafening thud hit the ground and shook the walls of the library.
Lore’s eyes darted to the other side of the room and saw a large, legless body coiled around itself. Inky scales glistened in the soft light of the free-dancing flames. A snake’s head rose, and bright orange eyes fixated on Lore and Mathilde.
“Ssso,” the snake said with a flickering tongue, “the fear-filled murmursss are true after all.”
FIFTEEN
Without missing a beat, Mathilde leaped off the table with her hands stuffed in the pockets of her bright red jacket. “Hello, Petra. I was curious when you’d show yourself.” Her voice was still shaking off the heat of the previous moment between her and Lore.
The snake’s body flowed like a rushing black river as Petra positioned herself in front of the mouse. The rest of the thick, scaly body lay in a mountain-sized pile where it had landed from the rafters.
Lore’s heart felt like it had turned to stone and she stood frozen while the animals continued their conversation.
“Your father will be misssed. But we should celebrate asss he ssstarts the next journey,” Petra said. Her voice sounded like it slipped in sweet syrup, yet the coldness of her tone still rang sharply in the room.
Mathilde said nothing at first, her back still facing Lore, but she could imagine the mouse biting a lip as she nodded her head. “While he’s busy on his next big adventure,” Mathilde’s voice faltered, “I’m afraid that I’m left with a bunch of puzzle pieces that don’t seem like they fit together.”
“My condolencesss.” The pumpkin-eyed snake’s tongue flickered around Mathilde. “You know, I consssidered him a dear friend after all thossse yearsss he ssspent in these wallsss during sssleepless nightsss.”
“Which is why I’m hoping you can help me.” Mathilde looked over her shoulder at the tattered top hat sitting on the table beside the stacks of books.
The shimmering firelight caught a glimmer of silver around the snake’s thick neck. It was a charm hanging off of a band of simple leather. The charm looked like four circles overlapping one another. Some sort of knot? Lore squinted with hopes of getting a better look, but as Mathilde turned to sit at the table again, Petra’s mighty body shifted, rattling the ground beneath.
“What do you have in mind?” the snake’s voice sounded as gentle as soft snowfall. “Mind you, my reach isss limited.”
Mathilde’s eyes glazed over. “The archives?” she asked, her gaze still fixated on the top hat, its golden band now stained with blood splatter.
