No, I decided as I turned back to the books and grabbed a copy of Old Homeowner’s Guide from the shelf, they’d probably just cut the locks off, like custodians did when they needed to search the lockers at the high school.
That was it. I put the book back on the shelf absently, my mind working furiously. I hurried out to my car with no books, looking for any holes in the my idea.
Chapter 2
The next morning I was back at the library, this time with a heavy knitting bag slung over my shoulder. As I passed a display of new books, I grabbed a mystery novel with a good cover and a random knitting book I didn’t think I’d read before. Then I went back to the reading corner and made myself comfortable in the armchair nearest the mirror, with my knitting bag tucked between my leg and the side of the chair and the books left conveniently beside me. Once I had a good view of the mirror, I settled in to wait.
I had spent most of the evening planning what to bring and wear. Some things had been obvious: a large, waterproof box of matches; peanut butter sandwiches; string; a notebook and pen; bandages. Clothes had been harder. I wanted to be certain I would be taken seriously. The panther seemed like the sort who would be used to women in skirts, so I’d chosen a black tiered skirt that was loose enough to allow for plenty of movement, with silk leggings underneath for warmth, a green t-shirt, a black sweater, and a sturdy pair of comfortable boots. I thought I looked ready for adventuring, even though every minute of waiting was making me wonder if I had been right to come back and right to think that the mirror showed this world on a regular basis.
After half an hour of waiting, I started to get edgy. I abandoned the knitting book quickly; the designs were too rustic to be my style and too easy for me to pick up any hints. The novel had a good cover, but the story wasn’t keeping me interested. I couldn’t tell if that was because the story wasn’t very good or if I was too distracted to get into it. I kept glancing at the mirror for some sign that it was changing, but the only reflections were of the perfectly normal teenagers coming to the quiet corner to answer their singing cell phones.
One student sat across from me and actually looked ready to do her homework. I hoped I wasn’t disturbing her; she had been carrying some serious looking books and probably wanted to study in peace. As she sat down, I made certain to focus on my book even when I wasn’t reading it, arranging myself in the chair so I was twisted toward the mirror and could look at it without really looking away from my book. I thought it might make her more comfortable, so she wouldn’t feel like I was watching her, but she still left quickly with her stack of books.
I finally abandoned any attempt to read the mystery novel and took out my knitting. I had brought along a knee sock to work on, knit on fine needles since it would take little space and a lot of time. Once I’d untangled it from the random knitting supplies that had hidden in the bottom of my bag when I was emptying it the night before, it gave me something to keep my hands busy. I opened the knitting book to a sock pattern that would pass for what I was knitting at a quick glance and propped it in front of me as a cover. The actual pattern of my sock was repetitive enough that I didn’t need a written pattern, but that also meant it didn’t use too much of my mind, leaving plenty free to be used for worrying. My thoughts drifted from worrying about the mirror to worrying about the panther in his prison, then finally landed on how ridiculous I felt. I had dressed properly for questing, I hoped, but what seemed practical for whatever was coming on the other side of the mirror looked decidedly odd in the real world. I was convinced that the librarians who wandered by every so often thought I was some kind of an eccentric nut. That was probably why the student had left; she was worried about my sanity. I decided I was going to give away this pair of socks; I’d never wear them. Too much worrying had gone into their knitting.
I had knit two inches when I saw the surface of the mirror shimmer like water being stirred by a breeze. Then there was a mist seeping up from the depths. It only lasted a moment. When the mist cleared, the stone room was visible again and the footstool leapt over the edge of the frame and into the library. I reached out and touched its top. The footstool jumped and turned toward me.
When I knew I had the footstool’s attention, I said, “I want to go back.”
The footstool tilted toward at me. It seemed to be considering my request. Then it settled down against my knitting bag. I took that to mean it would take me.
I picked up my knitting again. I had gotten almost to the heel flap when I saw the mirror’s surface shimmer once more. I stood and swung my bag back over my shoulder. The footstool pushed against the back of my legs. This time I sat down on it and tucked my feet up under my skirt. The footstool took a couple of steps back. I felt much more secure in this position.
In a few seconds, the mirror had cleared and the stone room was visible again. The footstool ran at the mirror and jumped through. It stopped as soon as we were on the other side and waited for me to dismount. When I had unfolded myself and my feet were on solid ground, it ran to the prison room door. It pushed the door with one leg and the door swung open easily, much more easily than it had for me. Magic, I reminded myself. There was a walking footstool and a talking panther; this place had to be thick with magic. I had accepted a magic mirror; I shouldn’t be surprised at a magic door. Besides, it was too late to change my mind now. I adjusted my knitting bag on my shoulder and followed the footstool into the prison room.
The panther was still there, this time stretched out in his cage, looking like he was trying to sleep and failing. The instant the door scraped open, he sat up so fast I knew he had been waiting for it. His eyes went right to the spot where his latest hero candidate would be. I hoped he wouldn’t be too disappointed. He saw me at once. His eyes widened a bit, but I couldn’t tell if it was disappointment or surprise.
“You are definitely not what I was expecting.”
Surprise, then. Hopefully disappointment wouldn’t follow. I didn’t know how to answer, so I just smiled at him as I crossed the room and dropped my knitting bag on the stones near the cage with a satisfying thunk.
The panther watched me with a raised eyebrow and a twitching ear as I knelt on the floor and rooted to the bottom of the bag, under the sandwiches, stray knitting needles I hadn’t cleared out, matches, and bandages, and came up with a set of bolt cutters. The panther sat up a little straighter as I took the lock shank between the blades and smashed the handles together.
The lock broke, cut cleanly though. It worked. I almost didn’t believe it. I dropped the bolt cutters by the wall and worked the lock out of the rusted holes, then pulled the door open to be sure there was nothing else holding it closed.
It wasn’t until the door swung open that the panther stood. He took a slow step forward, then another, then he bounded out, stopping just under the window, his back arched, his fur on end. The panther stretched his legs and started walking around the room. His eyes darted toward me every few steps. I let myself be distracted by the antics of the footstool, which was hopping about on two legs and even managed a back flip, while the panther composed himself. I heard the panther’s claws skitter across the floor. I had the feeling he had run or leapt across the room. I waited until I couldn’t hear him moving, then waited a few breaths more. When I turned back, the panther was standing in the middle of the room, calm and composed again. He bowed to me. “You have my gratitude.”
I didn’t know how I was supposed to respond, so I curtsied as best I could.
“The footstool will take you back to your world before we begin our quest.” As he spoke, the panther walked to the door. His paw reached up to turn the knob, and slid off the doorknob, down along the door, making him lose his balance and forcing him to stumble to keep from falling. He reached again with his paw, then swatted at the door, scraping at it with his claws, but that didn’t help. He had no way to turn the knob. He made a few more swipes at the door, batting at it like some kind of exotic toy. The footstool stood on its hind legs, bu
t it was too short to be of any assistance. The panther stepped back and stared at the offending bit of metal as if he couldn’t believe he had been defeated by something so mundane.
I left the bolt cutters on the floor; they were heavy and I didn’t want to cart them around. I swung the rest of the much lighter bag over my shoulder and joined the panther at the door. I was careful to turn the knob as if I had not noticed that he couldn’t do it himself.
As the door swung out, I said, “I’d like to come with you.”
The panther looked up at me. “It seems I will need assistance.” It wasn’t quite a growl. The panther brushed past me. The footstool and I followed him into the mirror room. I looked around, expecting to see a door I’d missed, but the panther went to the mirror. It was showing an Empire style sitting room, all blue and marble.
The panther ignored the room’s reflection. He touched the frame with his enormous paw and the image shivered. When it cleared, I could see a bit of grass and sky that looked the same as what I’d seen from the window.
The panther did not turn to look at me as he said, “You will have to keep a hand on my shoulder to pass through. You are not part of the magic.”
I placed my hand between the panther’s shoulder blades, which were clearly visible in his thin form. I felt him shrink away, then make an effort to keep his back under my hand. I wished I could ride on the footstool again. It had never seemed to find carrying me as much of a burden as the panther found the tips of my fingers resting on his shoulder. I felt the panther’s tense muscles moving under the soft fur as his front legs stepped over the rim of the frame. I had to turn sideways and edge through, my back pressed to the panther’s side, so I wouldn’t lose the connection with him. I grabbed the side of the frame for balance as I stood with one leg on either side. The panther hopped his back legs over the edge of the frame. I managed to swing my other leg over before he got himself all the way through and keep my balance, hopping a few steps on the other side until I was steady. The footstool leapt over the frame and trotted over to us.
We found ourselves on a wide, flat lawn. I couldn’t see anything but grass as far as the horizon. There were no paths or landmarks, nothing that would give us a clue which way to choose. The only things visible were the prison building itself, a small, squat shed with dull gray stucco walls and a pointed tile roof, and a few trees scattered around the area just outside the building. Otherwise there was nothing but green lawn.
“I will return shortly,” the panther murmured and slunk around the side of the building. I was glad he’d left the footstool with me; the open plane left me feeling exposed and alone.
I paced a few steps from the building, but there was nothing to see. It looked like we could walk for days and see nothing but grass and sky.
“Come along.” The voice seemed to come from no where. I jerked to attention before I recognized it as the panther’s. I tried to cover my reaction by moving my bag around on my shoulder, but I knew my fright had been too obvious to cover. There was nothing to do but follow the panther toward the horizon.
Chapter 3
The panther seemed to know where he wanted to go. The lawn remained flat, but after a few minutes of walking, I was able to see a dim shape ahead of us. As we approached, I realized it was a hedge. When we stood beside it, I saw that it looked like the sort of box hedge used for mazes. The panther started to walk around, counterclockwise, studying the hedge. I followed.
The panther did not speak as he padded along. I assumed he was looking for an entrance. I kept an eye on the branches. The long line of identical green leaves blurred before my eyes, with no opening bigger than a broken twig. After several minutes’ walk, my eyes drifted to the panther. His gaze was intent, unwavering, his eyes never moving from the tangle of leaves and branches. Nothing would get past him, so I didn’t feel bad when my mind and my eyes started to wander.
Over the next twenty minutes, the hedge remained exactly as it had been and I noticed many things of very little interest along the side of the path: a tree stump, a discarded shield with a lion painted on it, a flat rock, an old boot, a pile of craggy stones, a tree stump.
I stopped and looked again. I was completely certain I had seen that tree stump before; the bark was broken away in a very regular pattern.
“Keep up!” the panther called over his shoulder.
I hesitated. I knew I should probably tell him we were walking in circles, but I remembered his reaction to me, how he hadn’t thought I could help. I didn’t want to anger him, and I didn’t want to see the helplessness I’d seen in his eyes at the doorknob.
The panther doubled back and stood in front of me. “Are you coming?”
I didn’t want him to think I was a burden either, someone who couldn’t keep up and should have been left behind. “Yes, yes, I’m sorry. It’s just … I think I’ve seen that tree stump before.”
The panther turned to it. “How can you tell? They all look alike. Come along.” The panther started off.
I followed, keeping my eyes on the edges of the path, looking for anything else I might recognize. Maybe the panther was right and it was a coincidence.
But the lion shield was not. It couldn’t be, unless it was part of a spell.
“Are you able to keep up?” The panther had turned on the path and was scowling at me.
Circles or spells, the panther needed to know about this. “I recognize this too.” I pointed to the shield.
The panther looked at the shield, then cocked his head to the side and looked at me. He snorted. “You’re tired. You’re seeing connections where there are none.” He paced a few steps away and back. “My fault, I’m sure. I forgot you are not used to questing.” He looked around. “There’s a nice flat rock. Why don’t you rest there for a bit. I’ll go ahead and send the footstool back when I find the entrance.”
I didn’t want to sit. I didn’t want him to go ahead and leave me here alone. And I was quite certain I had seen that rock before. But I could tell the panther was making an effort to be understanding and not lose his temper. I sat on the rock.
“Wait there until the footstool comes for you,” the panther cautioned; then the two went on, leaving me alone.
I tucked my legs up under my skirt and waited, watching the panther and the footstool follow the curve of the hedge until they disappeared from sight. I pulled my knitting bag into my lap and took out my sock. As I untwisted my yarn and started knitting, I considered the problem.
The panther was right, of course. The way to solve a maze was to keep your hand on a wall and follow it through until you found an opening. I stopped knitting to pick up a dropped stitch before it formed a ladder.
Maybe there was no opening. Maybe the panther had been right before. Maybe he did need a hero with a sword, someone who could hack his way through the hedge and make his own opening. I put down my knitting, slid off the rock, and went to examine the hedge.
The branches were dense and twined around each other; the leaves made a thick curtain, stopping me from seeing anything within. I tugged on one of the branches and the whole area swayed. I went back to my rock and my knitting.
It was possible someone could hack their way through, but I doubted it could have been done with a sword, or an ax for that matter. Not quickly anyway. Maybe a chainsaw — a cordless chainsaw, obviously.
So either find a heroic lumberjack, or it was back to the panther’s plan of following a wall until he found the opening. Unless we were supposed to do something odd, like turn around and retrace our steps. I heard a twig snap and looked up, but there was nothing there.
Would the panther just keep going, or would he eventually send the footstool back to me even if he didn’t find an opening? I imagined being left on the rock for days on end, waiting to be summoned. At least I had sandwiches. I’d have to be careful with them.
I started knitting again, and then I heard it again, the rustling of leaves, the crunching of gravel. They were coming back; at least I hope
d it was the panther or the footstool and not some unknown danger. I looked down the path the panther and the footstool had taken, expecting to see the footstool returning and trying to ignore the fact that there were two sets of footfalls when there should only have been one, but no one was there. And I could still hear the footsteps approaching. As they came closer, I realized they were not coming from the direction the panther and the footstool had gone after all, but were following the path that had brought us here.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I wasn’t used to hearing sounds outdoors. That was quite possible. I slid off the rock and looked around the bend of the hedge in the direction the panther had gone. Nothing. But the sound was definitely closer, and now there were definitely two sets of feet. I thought back, but I was certain the panther had said he would send the footstool to guide me; there’s been no mention of returning himself. For an instant I wished for the flat plane. Even though I had felt exposed and vulnerable there, it would have let me see the danger. The hedges that hid me from the danger hid the danger too.
Well, I would just have to hide better. There had been a rocky mound a little ways on. I walked a few minutes down the path and found it right where I remembered it. I crouched behind the rocks, adjusting my skirt and bag so no part of me was visible.
There was a small fissure between two of the stones, just large enough for me to watch the path. And then I saw them, the panther and the footstool, coming from the wrong direction.
Ella and the Panther's Quest Page 2
