by Robin Trent
Titwell had been listening at the door to the attic. Elizabeth's frantic voice and her confrontation with her mother drew his attention. He became very alarmed over the subject of the conversation. He had entrusted the journal to Elizabeth, and now she had lost it. With the way Elizabeth was carrying on pretty soon everyone in the house, and that included the changeling, would know about the journal and that it was missing.
Titwell didn't want to think about what would happen to him should word get out that the journal existed or that a human of all things had read it. Not only would Queen Oonagh be furious, but she was liable to banish him to the farthest reaches of the underworld, never to be found again. At that thought, Titwell gulped. If the changeling got a hold of it or Groz, and they took it to Queen Maeve, he was a dead hob. No two ways about it.
Titwell had kept the journal because he needed to keep track of all the tests he had performed. He had never really considered how another party could use the information. He never had to; he kept it secret. No one had ever even had an inkling the journal existed for centuries, and all it took was for him to let one human look at it, and it was no longer a secret. He had to find the journal before anyone else did, and he had to do it quietly. In the meantime, he had to get Elizabeth to stop making such a fuss.
The argument was over, and the silence snapped Titwell out of his musings. He looked down the hallway at Elizabeth. She stood quietly by herself, shoulders slumped, looking like she was about to break down and cry. He forgot about his worries for a moment as compassion swept over him. Elizabeth slowly turned toward him and looked down the hallway right at him, or at least it seemed like she did. He quickly shut the door closing the small gap so Elizabeth couldn't see him.
Titwell's growing affection for Elizabeth was the reason he was now in this mess. He needed to keep his head. He took a step back from the door as he heard footsteps coming down the hall. Quietly, he made his way to the back of the room, where he could hide behind the dresser. He could hear Elizabeth's footsteps mounting the stairs now. Oh, of course, she was going to come in here. Why couldn't she just let it go?
The door creaked open, and Elizabeth stepped inside the room. She shut the door behind her and made ready to make her pronouncements. She felt silly talking to the air, but what choice did she have?
"Hello?" she barely whispered. Then realizing she may need to speak a little louder, she raised her voice, but only a little. "Hello? I know you're here. I need to talk to you."
Titwell stayed in his hiding place and didn't make a sound.
"I have to tell you something very important." Elizabeth waited to see if there would be a reply.
Oh, just get on with it, Titwell thought to himself.
"I've lost the journal. It was in my room, but it isn't there now. I was wondering if you took it back? I didn't finish reading it. I need to know the answer to how to get my baby back," Elizabeth pleaded.
You never will, so what's the point? The queen will never give up the child, Titwell thought as he stayed completely still.
"If you have it, could you please give it back to me?" Elizabeth asked again.
Titwell wasn't answering, and Elizabeth was just talking to herself, or at least it felt that way. This was her last resort. "Oh," Elizabeth exclaimed as realization dawned on her. "I'm sorry, maybe the changeling has it."
Titwell's eyes grew round like saucers. Oh no!
"Of course. I will go ask the changeling. Not that that mean little sprite will probably help me. But I have to turn over every stone. Sorry to have bothered you."
Elizabeth made to leave the room, and Titwell rocked the dresser as he scrambled to get out from behind it.
"Hello?" Elizabeth stopped and turned around to face the empty room again.
Titwell spoke from the shadows. "Don't do that. Don't talk to the changeling. He mustn't know about the journal. No one must know about the journal. Please stop running all over the house yelling about it." Titwell sounded as anxious as he felt.
"Will you show yourself?" Elizabeth was inching closer to the dresser.
"Go away!" Titwell squeaked.
"This is ridiculous. I can hear you. You gave me a journal to read. I know you are there. Why can't I see you?" Elizabeth huffed.
Titwell didn't answer again as he had already risked far, far too much. He waited for her to leave.
"All right, I'm going. And I won't talk to the changeling. I don't like him anyway." Elizabeth left the room and shut the door behind her.
Titwell's nerves were frazzled. He kept his place as he tried to slow his breathing and his heartbeat. He didn't even realize how fast he had been breathing or that he had been shaking.
Well, he was in a right fine mess and now he was going to have to get himself out of it. Titwell rightly suspected Rebecca had the journal. That one was way too curious. He was going to have to sneak into the servant's quarters and retrieve the book. Meanwhile, he had to hope and pray the changeling remained oblivious.
20
Under the light of the waxing moon, Rhys laid the necklace out on a rock before him. He stood up and looked around to make sure he was not followed. The desert air was dry, and the temperature was dropping rapidly as the heat escaped into the atmosphere. It was peacefully quiet, and the city had fallen asleep some time ago. Alone out here in the desert, he could easily be mistaken for a native, as he had chosen local dress instead of the soldier's uniform.
What wasn't different here was the earth itself. She was the same, no matter where you went. Rhys removed his shoes and sank his toes into the sand. Feet planted firmly, he bent his knees and drew power up from the ground. Magic, after all, was just a manipulation of energy, and his people had known how for time immemorial. The vitality of the earth was green, even here in the desert, and he pulled the energy inside himself and shaped it to his purpose. Green life force pulsed and snaked its way up his legs, and once it mingled with his own power, it became a frosty silver-white, like the color of moonlight tinged with mint green. Sand shifted and moved toward the pull of the energy vibrating and jumping as it was drawn to him.
He focused all of his intent on the energy, forming and shaping his enchantment until it felt full of his desire. He kneeled and placed his hands upon the amulet, releasing the power as it flowed down his arms and into the silver. He felt a swelling in his chest, and the energy buoyed him up to bob along its wave as he moved in and through it. The swirling movement opened his heart and his mind to the interconnectedness of everything as he felt a part of even the smallest particle.
Rhys sat back on his heels and gasped for air. Tears streamed down his face as the energy left overwhelming power in its wake. Magic didn't always affect him this way. He spoke once to an elder about it, and she told him it was because his heart was broken, and the energy was trying to fix it as it passed through his body. But he was resisting. The day he let his heart heal, the day he let go of his burden, was the day he would feel more wonder and joy instead of grief and sorrow.
Rhys picked up the necklace and held it in his hand. He could feel the energy pulsing inside it as the spell and intention settled into the pendant. Rhys pulled out a pouch of cornmeal, which he sprinkled over the desert land as an offering for the earth sharing her energy with him. He stared at the night sky and felt a oneness he knew wouldn't last as long as he remained cut off. He was finished here, and it was time to go home.
With Oswald in tow, Queen Oonagh departed to the In-Between. "Pay attention, Oswald. I need you to mark the way we came because you will be coming back here in the coming weeks."
"My queen, I am not a baby sitter, and I don't have your sense of direction or skill at traversing the In-Between," Oswald simpered. "What if I get lost?"
Queen Oonagh let out an exasperated sigh. "You have to make it back here, and you have to do it often. You will need to bring the nursemaid, and you will need to ... Oswald, are you listening to me?"
Surrounded by fog, Oswald couldn't see a thing. How was he
supposed to find his way in this mess? He wanted to be home at court. He was looking everywhere, his head darting about, looking for any useful landmark.
The queen stopped walking and Oswald, who was behind her, walked right into her. "Oh! Excuse me, my queen. I did not mean to harm your royal person." Oswald took a step back and bowed.
Oonagh rolled her eyes. "You're impossible. This is never going to work." She turned and started walking again.
"Yes, Your Majesty." Oswald was happy she was beginning to see the light.
"There's no helping it. I am going to have to create a special passage so you can find the child."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Oswald said, his former happiness dashed on the rocks.
"Don't fret Oswald, it's simple. I'll use two mirrors. I'll place one in the house with the child, and one in my chambers. Then you can walk directly through the mirror from one to the other. It will also let me keep an eye on you and the child while I am convalescing." Queen Oonagh stopped in her tracks and turned to look him square in the eye. "I can't stress to you how important this is, Oswald. This child must be well fed and taken care of. She must grow up. She cannot die. And if she does, Oswald, for once, I will go through with my otherwise idle threats." Oonagh's eyes narrowed as she hissed the last part.
"Which threat, madam?" Oswald looked a little worried. There had been so many.
"Pick the worst one," Oonagh said.
"Yes, Your Majesty." Oswald looked more miserable than ever. But the queen was serious, and he knew it, so he would do whatever she asked of him, threats or no. At least she was providing mirror transport. That would make life far more comfortable, and he wouldn't have to worry about getting lost.
They finally reached their destination. Oswald looked at the house in amazement. He'd never seen anything like it. It was large and spacious, the trees and vines had finished their work and had created solid walls with no space in between each vine or branch. Even the door was made of vines so tightly woven they almost made a solid piece of wood. Inside the house, the walls were alive, and they spouted leaves, still green at this late summer date. In the fall, Oswald imagined the leaves would turn scarlet and orange. In the center of the room was a baby's nest, just like the one the queen had made in her quarters. It was here that she placed the child. She rose to give Oswald instructions.
"As you can see, there is plenty of room. Should the need arise and you will have to stay because the baby is sick or some such, you can stay in whatever room you like. You can also bring furniture in here. I realize there is nothing right now. You can bring anything that will fit through the mirror."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"And Oswald, you are to keep quiet about this. No one is to know about this hiding place, do you hear me?" The queen's eyes blazed with a promise of the pain to come should he let one peep slip.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The last of the packed crates left on the train for Cairo. Nikolai and Henry were celebrating with a nice brandy and cigar in the dining room at the hotel, congratulating themselves on a job well done. They even discussed giving Rhys a commendation for his invaluable help in cataloging and packing the shipments. All seemed right with the world, and they were enjoying that satisfaction one feels when finished with an important task.
The letter arrived amid their celebrations. A waiter approached Nikolai and Henry's table and bent at the waist as he offered a polished silver tray that contained a simple envelope addressed to Nikolai. He knew the handwriting from correspondence he had seen between his wife and her mother. What was Helen doing writing to him?
Nikolai read the letter slowly digesting, its contents. His wife had been fine when he left, but now there appeared to be a problem back home. One bad enough that Helen had taken the time to write him and impress upon him the need for his swift return. Nikolai's hand trembled as he lay the letter down on the table.
"What's the matter, Nikki? Bad news?" Henry asked.
"I'm afraid it is. Helen says Elizabeth has fallen ill. I need to return to England posthaste. I was going to stay here for another week to ensure the last of the items were safely off...," Nikolai's voice trailed off as his thoughts winged home.
"Don't worry, what's left is minor work. I can handle it all on my own without difficulty. You must leave, old friend. Go home to your wife. You've been gone long enough as it is."
Nikolai stood. "I'm so sorry to leave you like this." He held out his hand to shake Henry's.
Henry returned the gesture and ended with a pat. "Nonsense. Everything is fine here. You've done splendid work. Safe travels and off you go."
Nikolai smiled a sort of sad smile at his childhood friend and left in a hurry. He had all intentions of catching the next train to the docks.
Rhys had enough of the human world and was ready to depart, but he had one thing left to do. He found Nikolai in the lobby of his hotel checking out.
"Leaving so soon?" He asked.
"Yes, I'm afraid I have to get home. Family business. Getting ready to catch the train."
"I have something for you," Rhys said. "A parting gift."
"That isn't necessary.” Nikolai looked surprised.
"I, sir, am an old bachelor. But I still know that women like pretty things. I have no use for it, and I have been carrying it around for a long time," Rhys lied as he presented a deep green pouch to Nikolai. "Don't want to go home without a gift for the wife, do you?" he teased.
Nikolai opened the pouch and stared at the necklace. "Why, this is remarkable. It looks very similar to some of the Celtic pieces I have seen on some of my digs."
Rhys stiffened a little at the mention of Nikolai's excavation efforts, but he maintained his smile. "It's been in my family for many years. It is Celtic in origin. I believe they even claim it is of faery make, although one can never trust family legends." Rhys lifted his eyebrow to show how dubious he thought that was.
Nikolai smiled. "I couldn't possibly take a family heirloom, but I appreciate the thought."
"Nonsense. I have no real family anymore. Truthfully, I would feel better if it were with someone that I know could pass it on to another family member." Rhys tried to look sincere. It must have been working because Nikolai seemed to soften. "It would be a relief for me not to have to carry it around anymore. I always worry I will lose it. You'd be doing me a great favor."
Nikolai placed the pouch in his jacket pocket. "I will find a proper box for it. Thank you so much for everything. You've done splendid work, and I am sure my wife will appreciate the necklace."
Rhys bowed formally as an officer would and said, "Not at all. The pleasure is all mine. Safe travels."
Nikolai shook Rhys' hand one more time and then departed for the train station.
That last part Rhys had said was actually the truth. He didn’t want to carry the amulet around and he wanted it to be someplace he deemed safe and inconspicuous. Rhys smiled to himself and whistled a little tune as he made his way back to his tent. He would be leaving himself shortly.
21
Strakx and Hoznac were already gone. They had used the memory potion on everyone in the camp before they left, so that bit of house cleaning was taken care of. They saw no need to stick around once Rhys had said their adventure was over.
He felt the rolling hills of England calling him home, and he was ready to get out of the heat. It may be decades before another war. He had the thrill of battle to accompany him and the knowledge that Nikolai was of no particular importance. Also, he was curious to know if Groz had found anything out about the other inhabitants of the Merkova household. Nikolai left quickly to return home, so it may be that something had happened.
Rhys stood inside his tent and looked around. Nothing was to be left behind to indicate he was ever there. Without flourish, he side-stepped into the otherworld and was gone in the blink of an eye.
All was quiet, and the household had retired for the night, everyone that is except Titwell. He needed to recover the journal, and ton
ight was the night. It was a full moon, and silvery light crept in through the windows, the leaves from the trees outside creating moving shadows across the floor. Titwell stood in the sitting room. He had been scouting the downstairs, quietly looking under cushions, under furniture, in the bookshelves, all to no avail. This procedure had gone on for several nights, methodically going from room to room, searching for the journal.
There was only one place left for Titwell to look, and that was in the servants' quarters. He had hoped he wouldn't have to risk it, but now he had no choice. Silently, he moved through the house, tiptoeing into the kitchen. Slowly he turned the doorknob to open the door to John and Rebecca's room.
There were windows on the east and south walls, and underneath them were long benches with sectional cushions. The seats were lids that lifted with storage inside. There was also a trunk at the foot of the bed. There were way too many hiding places in here. It could take hours to search all of it. The room lacked closet space, and at the moment, Titwell considered that to be a real blessing.
Sidhe could move swift without making a sound, but even Titwell realized it would be easy to wake the Barlows. He needed to be careful. Leaving the door wide open, he moved to the first bench, opened the lid just a smidgen, and the hinges let out a creak. Titwell winced. Rebecca shifted in bed, and she nudged John to tell him to quit snoring. Air escaped between Titwell's teeth as he lowered the lid, trying to prevent it from making any more sound. He wondered if all the hinges needed oil.
Titwell decided to try the trunk at the end of the bed instead. It had a latch but no lock. He lifted the latch, and the chest opened easily. He stood still listening for the Barlows, but they made no signs of rousing. Inside the trunk were blankets and other bedding. Titwell felt around the contents of the chest and stuck his hands in between and under the linens. In the middle blanket, he found purchase and withdrew the journal. Immensely relieved, he smiled to himself as he lowered the trunk lid.
