A Thousand and One

by Daria Doshrelli

  “Insipidly,” Tad finished for her. “But we don’t know who the villain is in this case and you don’t want to go rushing in to these things unprepared.” He pointed the love goggles at the globe and flicked his wrist at each figure in it. His eyes narrowed at where the goggles were aimed, right at Della’s companions, his chief suspects. “Mark my words, there is at least one mad or beastly creature at the end of these goggles.”

  Claire’s eyes flashed from the goggles to his face. “Ah, but which end, milord?” And then she magicked herself and her impish grin out of the library before Tad could reply.

  Somewhere nearby Pip hooted. But the usual echoing guffaw from Sev was absent.

  Tad allowed Claire a single point for this reply. The count now stood at seven for him and five for her, but he kept these tallies to himself lest she claim he had miscalculated. He turned his irritation with her on the pigeons. “What’s the matter with you?” he asked Sev, who sat quietly even as Pip bounced excitedly next to him. And where was Nan?

  “Back to Shub-Haramb,” Pip sang out. “This time I’ll get myself some spiced rice for sure.”

  “Is that where Della and Zaen live, then?” Tad asked.

  “Obviously,” Pip replied.

  Sev still said nothing but looked distinctly disturbed.

  Tad eyed him suspiciously. “Do you know something about this case you would like to share?”

  The bird swiveled his eyeballs to the bookcase next to him.

  What might Sev be hiding? “Do you have unfinished business in Shub-Haramb? Perhaps an old nemesis you do not wish to encounter? You wouldn’t be in love with Della, would you?” Tad’s index finger had begun to tap on his chin. This he remedied by shoving his hands into his pockets like a man.

  “Claire was right,” Pip said. “You have no method at all. Just say ideas that are wrong until one time you are right, and then you think yourself clever.”

  Funny, that was exactly how Tad thought of science. Just experiment until you imagined you found something to subvert the general opinion, then go and tell everybody how all of their findings through actual life experiences were wrong. “Are you pigeons going to be on my team, then?”

  Pip opened his beak to squawk out an affront.

  “This is not a competition,” Sev said.

  Pip’s eyes shot toward his cohort, one filled with horror, the other with concern, a deed only a very disturbing specimen of a thing could achieve. Suddenly, those hapless wonders brightened. “Oh, right, because we already know Claire is the winner.”

  “We must do our duty to Lady Love.” Sev appeared entirely serious in this remark even as Tad awaited the trailing insult.

  But none came and Sev sat straight and still as one of the statues he and Pip desecrated regularly. At his colleague’s silence Pip’s face took on a look of confusion.

  Tad now had a theory of his own—the pigeons drew straws or cast lots to determine who would be helpful on each case. Before it was Nan’s turn, and now Sev’s. Shudder to think what would happen when the die was cast that landed on Pip. Tad turned to the globe with grim imaginings of the future. “Show me what Zaen has been up to today.”

  He had barely gotten a glimpse of a young man, exotic yet shabbily dressed and attempting to control a frisky, chestnut steed when Claire materialized next to the globe. “Well, that was informative.” She patted her dress pocket.

  Tad’s jaw dropped. He snapped it shut, turned his eyes away from the bulge in her pocket and smashed his lips together.

  “Oh, did you not discover any clues in my absence?” Her cheeks glowed with sweet satisfaction. “I’m pleased with my findings today so…ready for dinner?”

  Chapter 5

  Tad magicked himself to where he had seen Zaen in the globe. The dinner of doom would have to wait. He had to get himself a clue before the sun set. Otherwise Claire would go to bed thinking she was going to win. No doubt she was congratulating herself at this very moment that she already had.

  But when his feet landed in the place where he had seen Della’s true love leading a spirited, arc-necked horse out of the stables and toward a field, the world was dark and downright creepy. The fanciful outskirts of Shub-Haramb had appeared much brighter in the globe, though, in recollection, Tad had asked the contraption what Zaen had been up to today, not what he was doing in the current moment. Now it was night and the moon shone high overhead. Time in Shub-Haramb didn’t match his home realm, and the way Tad’s stomach was rumbling for its dinner made it impossible to figure the difference.

  As he had not eaten lunch, the groaning and creaking in his gut was intolerable. He was just about to turn his inspection toward the stables in a shallow hope that Zaen might be inside when an elfin voice arose from the trees to his left. Tad hunched himself over, sneaked toward the edge of the tree line and gawked at a sight barely visible in the moonlight.

  “I’ve got her. I’ve got her! The father cannot calculate. He cannot calculate! So much trouble for nothing. Hee hee hee!” The voice crept along the warm breeze, sickening Tad’s stomach in much the same way a visit to Tante Iezavel’s doorstep always did.

  He squinted at the small, hooded figured dancing a jig atop a log.

  “She’s mine, all mine. A firstborn, she is. Special. And nobody tells her a thing. Nobody tells her.” The figure cackled again. Suddenly it stopped its happy dance. A pair of yellow eyes turned toward Tad’s bushy hideout, and Tad was out of there.

  His heart was thundering when he landed in his cottage and launched into a frantic search for intruders or mad creatures with yellow eyes. Within minutes he had tiptoed his way through each room in his abode until he was satisfied there was nothing to fear in this sacred space. Mercifully, the thing from the woods in Shub-Haramb had not followed him home, even though the yellow eyes must have belonged to a magical creature.

  This escape would have cheered him a good bit except there was still the matter of the magical break-in earlier. And the impending dinner with Tante Iezavel. His lifespan was getting less promising by the hour.

  The tower clock in his study hurled forth an ominous dong, sending Tad leaping halfway through his skin. It chimed five times more, each clang accompanied by a jolt to Tad’s nervous system, and then all was quiet. But nowadays he was used to having his heart struck by lightning repeatedly and so it took only moments for him to return to a state of calm and realize too much time had slipped by during his visit to Shub-Haramb. That meant he had better be on his way to whatever fearsome spectacle awaited him at the blue house with the orange door. And after this unpleasant get-together he’d have to walk home. At night. In the dark.

  If he ever left at all.

  He wasn’t sure which scenario was the least wicked but he summoned his waning courage by scooting to his room and donning his best suit, a wool coat and a modern, round gentleman’s hat. Being so smartly dressed always made him feel better about the world. He would just use magic to get himself home if the witch tried anything, and he had also just discovered a clue about the case, sort of, so things were definitely looking up. And if Tante Iezavel did permit him to leave, probably nobody would see him magically disappear in the dark. So he had a plan and if that didn’t work surely Lady Love would avenge him. He straightened his bow tie with hardly a tremble in his hands.

  But as he looked at himself in the mirror on the wall of his wardrobe, it struck him that the articles he now wore were all things this morning’s intruder ought to have noticed if they had been in his room at all. That was clearly impossible, otherwise these most irresistible items would be missing. What might the thief have been looking for? Whatever it was, they had clearly mistaken his house for somebody else’s. But who kept important things in their cupboard?

  Tante Iezavel came to mind, her gray eyes—or were they green? Straight, black hair. And what were those curly-toed things she wore on her feet? Or was it her toes that were curled? He had not been able to tell since her tunic dragged the ground. Or was it a robe?
One could never be sure what the protocol was among her kind. He allowed himself one last shudder at the memory of his hostess, straightened his hat, and was on his way out the front door.

  The scattered remnants of light on this fine spring day made his jaunt to town a rosy one. Kicking rocks always helped, so he did that, too, and for fully a quarter of an hour the sight and scent of carefree fields and budding forests displaced his many anxieties.

  When he reached the town square his steps slowed. Only it wasn’t dread of dining with Tante Iezavel or Claire’s evil plans that made him wary. Too many strange happenings lately, that’s what put him on his guard. Which of the villagers was an incompetent magical thief? Could there be more than one? Just how many of his neighbors were normal? Which ones might be something a little bit disturbing? His eyes strayed sideways at each form he passed.

  The baker closing up shop looked at him funny, like one of them had something to hide. The postmaster’s arms were very hairy today. It was a full moon, after all. And a milkmaid might have turned away just as a flicker of serpentine green sparked in her eyes. For weeks now Tad had suspected things in his quiet town were not as they appeared at first sight. Right after Claire showed up, actually.

  But the most peculiar of all was the creature Claire had lived with since her arrival. Whatever secrets the rest of the town had, at least everybody agreed Tante Iezavel was not human. Everybody except Claire, anyway.

  True, some desperate souls called upon the resident peculiarity, and none had yet disappeared. Their business with her was their own. That’s what they said, though everybody knew why they wouldn’t speak of their visit. The witch had cast a spell over them. They were already fruitcakes. But all emerged from Tante Iezavel’s den in an irregular state. Altered, somehow. Still, nobody could point out exactly what had changed.

  Tad reached the dreaded side street, the one lined with respectable houses, save one. At the end of the lane, sandwiched between two normal, brown, square residences, sat a bright blue, three-story, mushroom-like house with a door the color of pumpkin. The house appeared one day out of nowhere. Or at least that was the local consensus. It was an odd thing for a witch’s lair. And he had never actually seen a cauldron on the premise, but Claire frequently babbled about their experiments using words Tad couldn’t understand. She did it on purpose to torment him.

  His feet shuffled toward the door and he reached out to sound a gentle knock. But before he could bring his knuckles to bear, voices arose from behind the orange barrier and the door swung open. Tad jumped to the side to avoid being plowed over by a body in motion.

  “And now you must go, bye.” Tante Iezavel gave her guest a two-handed shove toward the door, and out he went, over the threshold, forever altered. The wild-eyed man with the limp hair and sparse eyebrows turned back to her with a perplexed expression. “Don’t step on any cracks. Oh, and I would stay away from black cats if I were you.” With this she slammed the door.

  Well, at least that explained where Claire learned her manners.

  The ejected client stood motionless. He blinked at the orange wood several times. His moustache twitched thrice and then he turned and went on his way without a word, as if Tad were invisible.

  Tad spun back to the door and knocked loudly before his wits triumphed over his courage. The knob jiggled. All was quiet. It jiggled again. He leaned forward and took a closer look. There was nothing strange about it at all, just an ordinary, round, wooden knob. Suddenly the door whirled open.

  Tante Iezavel stood eyeball-level grinning at him. “Greetings, drabling.” The words creaked out as a gate swinging on a rusty hinge. “Come in, come in. At last you are here. But I have a customer and so you must wait…Come now, I don’t have all night.” She turned and stalked away.

  Tad sprang over the hairy mat in front of the door. There was probably some curse if you stepped on it. His eyes swiveled left and right as his breath, which he had been determined to hold as long as possible, took in the scent of sweet meat, yams and hot rolls. His nose would know those smells anywhere but he never figured on finding them in this particular house. Of course, he had never been senseless enough to get himself inside.

  The door closed on its own behind him. He pretended not to notice.

  He made his way unescorted down the reception hall, which was much longer than he imagined based on the size of the house. A young woman sat in a wicker chair next to a room that had strings of beads hung in place of a door. Her fingers were interlaced and her eyes cast apprehensive looks at the objects in the receiving area.

  Something sprang out from the room to his left. “Hi-ya!”

  Tad was too terrified to scream but his mouth popped open. “You…” His throat emitted a growl.

  Claire beamed at him. That hair of hers was as wild as ever. “The bread just came out, fresh baked.”

  “I know.”

  “Oh, well, come on and I’ll show you around.” She beckoned with her hand.

  “I don’t want to disturb…” Tad’s eyes moved to where Tante Iezavel’s voice drifted from the bead-string door next to the woman in the wicker chair. Either she had another client or his hostess was conferring with departed spirits or something.

  The witch herself took that moment to emerge through the beads in her usual silken tunic that dragged the ground. Tad tried to figure out her shoes again. They appeared to be some sort of jeweled slippers. The toes were curled, just as he remembered, and though he couldn’t see the entire shoe, the ends peeked out as she scooted toward the poor woman awaiting whatever fate lay behind the beaded curtain.

  The wide-eyed woman opened her mouth.

  Tante Iezavel held up her hand. “No need to speak. I know why you have come. I’m running a special so today’s visit is on the house…”

  The mousy young lady blinked at her. Her lower lip quivered.

  “Now, four days hence will be a dark and stormy night.” Tante Iezavel leaned over and stared deeply into the woman’s eyes. “Put an egg in front of the fire and go to bed. That night you will dream of a man coming through the door and picking up the egg.”

  The woman frowned. “He’ll be the one I’m to marry?”

  “He’ll be the one you’re not to marry…unless you wish your children to have unnatural cravings.”

  “Oh.”

  “And now your problem of choosing between the two suitors is solved. Thank you, come again. Pay next time. Bye now.” Tante Iezavel pulled her patron to her feet and dragged her toward the door.

  The woman was shoved out and the door slammed shut.

  “And you.” The resident witch turned her piercing eyes on Tad. “I know all about your troubles as well.”

  “Oh, Imogene, will you quit with that.” Claire wagged her head at her landlord.

  “Nonbeliever,” Tante Iezavel replied. “I have no time for your science tonight.” Tad squirmed as her gaze remained on him. “But you have brought me what I asked so you are a good girl.”

  Shouldn’t she at least feed him first? Tad felt compelled to stall his fate. “I thought the two of you worked on your experiments together.”

  Tante Iezavel waved her hand dismissively. “Science is for children.”

  Tad couldn’t help grinning a little. But his stomach twisted up and the sight of the hairy cord around the witch’s neck, and that undid the magic of the moment. “What, exactly, do you do…if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Tad shook his head.

  “I give council to those in need.”

  Propagate old wives’ tales, that’s what she had just done. Was the town witch no more than a dealer in snake oil?

  “I also read minds…You think I am a charlatan.”

  Tad swallowed hard and gave his head a stuttering shake.

  The crazy lady cackled at him. She actually cackled, an honest-to-goodness sign she was descended from something ill-behaved.

  “Can we eat now?” Claire put her hands on her h
ips. “I’m starving and the bread’s getting cold.”

  “Very well, very well. After dinner, I suppose. You humans need to nourish yourselves far too often. It’s a wonder you have survived as a species.”

  Claire closed her eyes and shook her head. “Come on, Tad. I can hear your stomach from here.”

  He rubbed his belly, testing the rumbling beneath his fingers. It was the starvation variety, all right.

  Claire led him down the too-long corridor and into a well-lit room just off a surprisingly tidy kitchen. Tad’s eyes strayed toward the stove to verify what he was about to be served had not be prepared in a cauldron. Just ordinary pots and pans hung from hooks above the wash basin. A strange contraption sat on the counter, probably one of Claire’s inventions she was always rambling on about.

  The spread was already on a round table, heaped in the center with three small plates around the edges. There was only enough room to comfortably fit two. It was hardly surprising that they never had the lingering kind of company.

  Tad directed his words at Tante Iezavel so he had an excuse to look back at her creeping up behind him. “I hear you make a good peacock.”

  “I never cook.” Tante Iezavel gave her tenant a certain look. “Claire keeps telling people I made the food she gives away. She thinks if people imagine I can whip up a good pork roast or a stew they’ll consider I might be normal. But really they refuse to eat any of it because they just know I cooked it up in a cauldron.”

  That was about the sum of it.

  Tante Iezavel shrugged her eyebrows. “Besides, the rumors are good for business.”

  “Then why do you keep her around?” The question just came out before Tad could take it back.

  The elfin figure who was seating herself next to the window belted out a laugh. “She’s good for business, too.”

  “How’s that?” If he was going to perish tonight, anyway, he might as well satisfy his curiosity and not just his stomach.

  “People like her. I’ve never had so many eager patrons. Terrified, but eager. They figure if Claire lives here it must be safe.”