Gloom Town

by Ronald L. Smith

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “But we need to learn everything there is about Foxglove. The more we know, the better chance we have of finding out what they’re planning.”

  Izzy nodded, tight-lipped and serious.

  The table in front of Lyra Blanton’s stall was a sad display. A few plants looked somewhat healthy, but the flowers in vases were on their last breath of life.

  “Well, hello there, young ones,” the old woman greeted them. “Can I interest you in a beautiful tulip?” She ran her fingers along a green vase with a single faded bloom.

  “Um,” Rory stuttered. “My mum told me you’ve been in Gloom a long time. Is that right?”

  Lyra Blanton looked at him curiously. Her face was lined, but her eyes were clear and bright. A small ring with a turquoise stone stood out on her left hand. “You’re Hilda’s boy?”

  “Uh, yes.” Rory was taken aback. He looked nothing like his mum, so he wondered how she knew.

  “I’ve seen your mum sing at Black Maddie’s,” Lyra explained.

  “Oh,” Rory replied.

  “And a beautiful voice she has too. Lovely as a siren.”

  Rory had heard of sirens, but he didn’t know if it was a good thing to be compared to one. He swallowed. Peddlers jostled behind him, calling out daily specials.

  “And you’re Pekka’s little girl. Is that right?”

  Izzy nodded, somewhat grudgingly.

  “I have a question for you,” Rory tried again. “Me and Izzy were wondering: Do you know how long Foxglove Manor’s been here?”

  Lyra Blanton’s cheery demeanor faded. Her clear eyes grew wet.

  Rory flushed, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”

  Lyra sat heavily on a stool behind her. She took a silk cloth from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. “Just a little lad, he was. My Timothy.”

  Rory froze.

  Such a lovely child. Light of foot, with hair as pale as an angel’s.

  Izzy gasped, but Lyra Blanton was too caught up in her memory to notice.

  “Timothy?” Rory asked. He had to tread carefully. He didn’t want to cause the woman any more distress.

  “Yes, my Timothy,” she went on, a weak smile forming on her face. “Lovely, fine hair. Like a fairy, he was. Had an accident up there at the big house. Was stuck in the chimney when he tried to clean it.” She laid a wrinkled hand on her heart. “Injured his poor chest.” She dabbed at her eyes again. “They gave his body back,” she whispered. “So small . . . so small.”

  Izzy gave the woman a moment to gather herself. “And there wasn’t anything . . . fishy about it?” she asked.

  Lyra Blanton released a huge sigh. “No. Not really. It was dangerous work in those days, being a chimney sweep.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rory said, biting back his anger. Foxglove had lied to Lyra Blanton. He was an evil, evil man. No, not man, Rory thought. He didn’t know what he was.

  He still wanted more answers. “So, the manor. Do you know how long it’s been in Gloom? And Lord Foxglove? What do you know about him?”

  Rory waited. He hoped he wasn’t making things worse, dragging up painful memories in this woman’s mind. But much to his surprise, she smiled affectionately.

  Izzy’s eyebrows rose.

  “Ah, a good man,” the old woman said. “Gave me and my late husband enough money and plenty more to bury poor Timothy. Rich, he is. Bought the town long ago, so long ago now no one remembers.”

  Rory stared, stricken.

  Izzy’s mouth literally formed an O before she quickly closed it.

  “Bought the town?” Rory asked cautiously.

  “Oh yes,” Lyra Blanton said. “Paid for the town’s new land deed. Have you never heard? This town wasn’t always called Gloom.”

  Rory felt as if his legs were about to buckle.

  “What . . . did it used to be called?” Izzy asked.

  Lyra Blanton looked past them, as if she were seeing another place and time in her memory. “A nice town, it was. Sea Bell, it was called. If you go down to the dock, past the Squid and Anchor, you can see some of the old mariners’ bells they used to ring to announce ships coming in.”

  Rory and Izzy stood silently.

  Around them, merchants shouted, dogs barked, small children wailed. But they were oblivious.

  Gloom. Sea Bell.

  “So what else can I be helping you with?” Lyra Blanton’s voice broke Rory’s trance.

  “Um. Nothing. Thanks. We appreciate it.”

  Izzy fished in her pocket and laid a few coins on the counter. “Is this enough? For the tulip?”

  The gesture was so kind Rory thought his heart would break.

  A smile grew on the old woman’s lined face. “Of course, dear,” she said, handing Izzy the vase with the faded flower.

  Izzy laid a hand on Lyra Blanton’s shoulder. “We’re sorry,” she said. “I’m sure Timothy was a fine boy. We won’t forget about him. Will we, Rory?”

  “No,” Rory said, and his voice was distant in his ears. “We won’t.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Saved by a Curse

  “Sea Bell,” Rory said. “Not Gloom. Sea Bell.”

  His head was spinning from Lyra Blanton’s revelations. “Foxglove named the town Gloom. Did he think that was funny?”

  “That boy didn’t get stuck in a chimney,” Izzy shot back. “Foxglove killed him and buried his heart!”

  “What if Timothy wasn’t the only one?” Rory said. “What if there are others? What if another boy or girl shows up to work there and they end up dead too?”

  “All just more reasons to stop him,” Izzy said.

  Their thoughts had been coming so fast and furious they barely knew they had left the market behind and were walking along the docks.

  “We need to go see the painter again,” Izzy suggested. “Swoop.”

  “Why wouldn’t he have told us Foxglove owns the town?” Rory asked.

  “Maybe he’s still hiding something,” Izzy said, an edge to her voice. “The little weasel.”

  Rory recalled Swoop’s fidgeting and evasive manner. He knew more than he’d let on. He had to. “Tomorrow,” he said. “Tomorrow we go back to Swoop’s and press him for more information.”

  “Right,” Izzy said. She made a gesture with her fingers. “And if he doesn’t tell us, I’ll curse him.”

  * * *

  Later that day, Rory found himself at Market Square once again, doing some shopping for his mum. The dark clouds he had seen earlier never did bring rain, only a heaviness that seemed to weigh all of Gloom down. It had been like that for the past several days, Rory realized. Storm clouds brewing on strong winds.

  He froze.

  She is coming. I can feel her upon the wind.

  He shook the thought away.

  He cut down Quill Street, a small side alley that made the trip home a bit shorter. The fresh fish and oysters he carried in his sack gave off a pungent scent.

  “Whatcher got there, eh?”

  Rory stopped dead in his tracks. He turned around.

  Canaries. Three of them. All in their yellow slickers and black caps.

  Rory stopped breathing.

  “What’s the little cubby got?” one of them said.

  They had a peculiar way of talking, the Canaries, with odd slang words that only they could decipher.

  Rory backed up a step. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten into a fight, but it certainly wasn’t with more than one opponent. A vendor came out of his shop, took one look at what was happening, and rushed back inside.

  One of the Canaries stepped forward. His eyes were as small as a bird’s. “Empty yer pockets, lovey,” he said in a sickeningly sweet voice. “Giver up.”

  “No!” Rory said. His heart was racing. He crouched, ready to flee or charge, he wasn’t sure which.

  The leader smiled. He had a gap in the center of his teeth as big as a sausage. “Oi! He’s full o’ pepper, eh?”

&n
bsp; “Get him!” yelled another.

  “Make him sing, innit? Just a nick!”

  The click of switchblades sounded in Rory’s ears.

  He dropped his bag, but before he could do anything, he saw a small, shadowy figure creeping up behind the Canaries.

  “Oi!” Izzy’s voice called out. “My mum’s a witch, and she’ll curse you if you don’t leave him alone!”

  Now, there’s one thing about the Canaries that everyone knew. For all their bluster and violence, they were deathly afraid of anything that didn’t seem quite normal. They’d seen Izzy at Black Maddie’s, reading fortunes, and steered clear of her, assuming she was a witch of some sort. A “conjurer,” they’d called her, a “trickster wench.”

  The Canaries all turned quickly, prepared to face this new threat.

  Izzy began to tie her red hair up in a knot, a sign that she was ready to fight. But she didn’t fight. She began to whisper. She walked forward one small step at a time, hunched over to make her approach even more menacing, snapping her fingers as she advanced.

  “Black as night, black as coal,

  a witch’s brew to steal the soul.

  Slackety clap, clipety clak.

  Better run now

  and don’t look back!”

  Izzy crossed her fingers on both hands and extended her arms, pointing directly at the Canaries’ leader.

  The gang bolted in all directions, leaving Rory in the middle of the road.

  Izzy watched as they disappeared. “Good thing I came along, eh?” she said.

  Rory breathed a sigh of relief and picked up his bag. “Stupid Canaries,” he said quietly. He stared at her for a long moment. “Wait. Where did you come from?”

  Izzy chuckled. “I was on my way to Black Maddie’s and I saw them tracking you, so I hung back and kept an eye on them. I had a feeling they might try something.”

  “It was the sight,” Rory said eagerly. “That thing you said you have. You knew what was going to happen!”

  Izzy rolled her eyes. “That’s not the way it works. It’s different than that.”

  “Well, what is it, then?”

  They were interrupted as a lamplighter made his way up the street carrying a pole at least five feet long. At one time, every lamppost in Gloom was lit this way, but eventually, more and more gas lamps took their place. Now only a few still stood, a relic of another era. Sea Bell, Rory thought. A nice town, Lyra Blanton had called it.

  A small flame danced at the end of the lamplighter’s pole. Rory and Izzy watched as the man raised it to the glass globe at the very top. The round glass ball flickered and then illuminated the street with a weak yellow glow. The light spilled along the cobblestones where Rory stood. He looked down. “Izzy,” he said.

  “Yeah?”

  Rory waved his arm in the air.

  “My shadow. Where is it?”

  Izzy looked to her feet, where a diagonal shaft of light stretched out before her. She turned in a circle, then stretched out her arms and waved them over her head. Her face suddenly paled. She looked at Rory. “Where’s my shadow?” she said, her voice almost panicked. “By the sea gods, Rory! Where’s my shadow?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Hidden

  “Foxglove,” Rory spat out. “He did it! Swoop was right! He’s a shadow stealer!”

  Izzy sat on the ground and put her head in her hands.

  “What’s going to happen?” she asked. “We’re gonna become . . . ghosts.”

  Rory shivered at the memory of Swoop’s words: I would imagine you’d become a wraith. A shade of your former self.

  “No,” Rory said. “We’re going to get our shadows back. Me and you, Izzy.”

  He offered his hand and she pulled herself up.

  A man walked by and shot them a curious look. Rory watched him pass and saw that he didn’t cast a shadow either. “We have to do something,” he said. “The whole town . . . everyone’s shadow could be gone!”

  “Foxglove,” Izzy repeated, and the name sounded like a curse. “We’re going there now to get our shadows back!”

  Rory released a trembling breath. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Let’s get ahold of ourselves. We don’t even know how to do that.”

  Izzy paced back and forth. “I can’t believe it,” she muttered.

  Rory couldn’t either.

  He looked to the cobblestones again, lit by the lamplight. He waved his hand back and forth between the light and the ground. Nothing. There was no mirror image.

  “Swoop,” Izzy hissed. “Maybe he knows how. He was hiding something, Rory. I could tell.”

  Rory knew she was right. Plus, the artist was the one who’d talked about shadow stealing in the first place.

  The idea of trying to retrieve his own shadow was beyond comprehension. Rory didn’t even know where to begin. His eyes suddenly stung.

  Izzy grabbed him by the shoulders. “We can do it, Rory. Foxglove stole our shadows and our town. He’s going to get what’s coming to him!”

  Rory swallowed back tears. He didn’t want to cry in front of Izzy. “We’re the only ones who can stop him,” he said, voice trembling.

  She released her grip, and the look she gave him was fierce. “And that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

  * * *

  Rory tossed and turned in bed, his thoughts plagued by visions of shadows and dark magicians.

  My shadow, he thought, not for the first time. Gone? How?

  He had heard his mother come in from her night shift at the tannery, but he was too fearful to go downstairs to see if she still had a shadow. What could he tell her? That he and Izzy would find a way to get them back?

  He finally fell asleep, and his dreams were sunless and cold.

  * * *

  Rory and Izzy stood on the boardwalk of Captain’s Quay. The wind was strong, and Rory watched a small boat rock to and fro on the bay while the captain struggled with a tattered sail.

  Much to Rory’s dismay, upon awakening, he had seen that his mum’s shadow was, indeed, gone. She hadn’t seemed to notice, though, only went about her morning tasks as usual. I have to tell her, Rory had thought. No. I can’t. Who knows how she’d take it? It’s up to me and Izzy. We have to find a way. Izzy had faced the same terrible realization when she had seen that Pekka’s had vanished too.

  The darkening skies that had been plaguing Gloom were even worse today. A cold wind came with them, screaming down the Strasse like a spirit. “Probably Foxglove’s doing as well,” Izzy said.

  Now that Rory knew he didn’t have a shadow, he constantly looked for it: along the road beneath his feet, on the side of every building he passed. It was gone.

  Rory watched as people walked by, none of them casting any kind of shadow either.

  “No one knows it’s missing until they look,” Izzy said distantly.

  Will they all become wraiths? Rory wondered. Like ghosts, Izzy had said. What about his mum, and Izzy’s?

  “And these skies don’t help,” Rory replied, peering up at the black clouds. “I know Gloom is dark, but this seems . . .”

  “Unnatural?” Izzy suggested.

  A heavy silence hung in the air. The wind whipped along the boardwalk, sending paper and debris flying.

  “She is coming,” Rory whispered.

  “I can feel her upon the wind,” Izzy finished.

  * * *

  There was no sign of Swoop on the beach.

  “Looks like we have to try his house,” Izzy said.

  They took the same path as they had before, past the inn called Bertha’s and the sail-maker’s shop. Rory walked warily, every now and then stopping to look behind them. What if Swoop was right? What if he was being watched by someone? Were they being followed before, when they first met Swoop?

  Rory couldn’t think about that now. They just had to find him and ask more questions: How could they get their shadows back? Did Foxglove and Malvonius have any weaknesses? And then there was the matter of Foxglove
actually owning Gloom.

  Rory shook his head at the strangeness of it all.

  “This is it.” Izzy’s voice brought him out of his reverie.

  They were standing on the steps of Lysander Swoop’s house. Rory looked at the dead flowers and, once again, felt a sense of foreboding, a deep pang in his stomach. “Here goes,” he said, and knocked on the door—three short raps.

  A breeze came down the street, snapping the clothes drying on a neighbor’s line.

  “Maybe he’s not home,” Izzy said.

  Rory knocked again, louder this time.

  They waited, but there was no response. “What do you think?” he asked.

  They both looked out to the street. They didn’t want to draw suspicion. A spark suddenly gleamed in Izzy’s eyes, one Rory had seen before—when she was up to no good.

  She turned around again and faced the door, as did Rory. She rattled the knob, then peered in through the window. “Nothing,” she said. “Curtain’s in the way.”

  A moment of silence hung in the air between them.

  Izzy took a pin from her hair and held it up.

  “Really?” Rory asked in disbelief.

  “Any better ideas?”

  “No,” he said, against his better judgment.

  Izzy glanced back toward the street. “Stand behind me,” she told him in a low voice. “Look like you’re just waiting for someone.”

  Rory did as she asked. He released a trembling breath. He knew it was wrong to break in, but they needed answers, and he didn’t know where else to find them.

  He heard Izzy fiddling around with the keyhole and then a distinct click. “Got it,” she said.

  They entered quickly and shut the door behind them.

  Rory gasped.

  Lysander Swoop lay face-down on the floor, his arms and legs at crooked angles.

  “Tears of a fish!” Izzy whispered.

  Rory stepped forward carefully. Maybe Swoop was sleeping. Or drunk. He was an artist after all.

  Rory knelt and took a deep breath, then gazed up at Izzy, who nodded. He rolled the man over.

  Two lifeless eyes stared up at him.