“I thought you might,” the king said. “I know that look in a man’s eye, the spark that shows he has a thirst to see magical things. I saw it in yours the first time you were here. So I took the liberty of having a journal bound for you. All its pages are blank now, except for the ones in the beginning, which is what you wrote when you were in the dungeon—I think it’s rather appropriate that your story begins with a smudge. Fill this book with the stories of what you see when you’re out being my eyes—and drawings, too. I want to know exactly what the magic looks like.”
“Er—I can’t really draw,” said Ven sheepishly. “I can do a little architectural drafting, sail and rigging maps and such, and a little bit of cartography—”
“You’ll learn,” the king said. “All skills get better with practice. When you fill up that journal, come back and I will give you another.”
“And you just want to know what is out there?”
“Yes,” said the king. “You have an eye for magic, Ven. Find it where it hides—in the people, the cultures, the beasts, in all the places it appears in nature. In the customs, in the stories. You will know it when you see it.”
“I hope so,” said Ven. “I’d hate to disappoint a king.”
“As long as you remember to tell the tales accurately, as they were told to you—the hammered truth—in the words of the person telling them, or as honestly as you can describe them if they are your own observations, then I will never be disappointed,” said King Vandemere.
“I promise I will do my best,” said Ven.
“Good enough,” said the king. “Now we need to discuss what you will need—tools, money, and such. What sort of an entourage would you like? It’s important that you remain safe, so we will probably need to assign you some soldiers, and perhaps a few advisers, or a Vizier—”
“If you don’t mind, Your Majesty, I think I have everything I need for now,” said Ven hurriedly. “I have all the tools I need here.” He held up the jack-rule. “It measures extremely accurately, can help me see the details up close or the whole picture from far away, and always reveals the hammered truth.” He opened the small knife. “It also peels apples.”
The king laughed.
“And as for an entourage, I actually think I have that already, too. I have found a great group of friends who work very well together, like puzzle pieces that fit. I think I could convince them to help me from time to time. And if you’re looking for the hammered truth, I think I should be as ordinary as possible, like when you went around in disguise. A kid traveling alone, or with some friends, is better for doing what you want done than someone with a huge entourage of soldiers because they will be less noticeable. No one really pays attention to kids.”
The king nodded. “That’s true. Well, what about money? I will be paying you well for this. Now that you have money you can move out of Hare Warren, especially if that Cadwalder fellow is going to remain there. You can stay in the part of the inn for paying customers. You don’t have to work or do chores there anymore.”
Ven sighed. “I like Hare Warren just fine. Cadwalder is a strange fellow, but his life has been really hard. Mrs. Snodgrass has spoken to him, and it’s amazing he survived the experience—those scary tales about her are not all wrong. So I don’t think I will be having any more problems with him. And besides, Mrs. Snodgrass could use the help with the chores. That’s what you do around the house—when you are part of a working family.”
“As you wish,” said the king, smiling approvingly.
“I thought you might like to have this, though,” Ven said, pulling the leather wallet Oliver had given him out of his pocket. He took out a dried piece of yarrow. “This is, as best as we could tell, the first flower that bloomed on the spot where the box is buried. I think I will try to bring you back some memento of each story I collect for you, so that that you can use your actual eyes to see a little bit of the magic as well.”
“Thank you very much,” said the king, taking the yarrow stalk. “I like that idea. Come and see me in a day or two, and we will decide where you go first. Is there anything else you need from me?”
“Just one thing,” Ven said.
“Name it.”
“Make certain Mr. Witherspoon pays for what he did.”
“Done,” said the king.
LATER, AT NOON-MEAL, BACK AT THE INN, VEN TOLD CLEMENCY, SAELI, Nicholas, Char, and Ida the story of his trip to the castle and what the king had said. They sat on the wide porch, sharing a picnic lunch, and asking him all manner of questions about what his new job would be.
“So I hope all of you might be interested in coming with me, at least some of the time,” he finished.
“Perhaps,” said Clemency. “If I’m not ministering to my congregation.”
“I’d like to,” said Nicholas. “Let me know ahead of time, so I can make arrangements with another messenger to cover my shift.”
“You know I’m in,” said Char as Saeli nodded. Only Ida shrugged.
“We’ll see,” she mumbled, and returned to her food.
“Well, I ain’t got no choice, really,” Char said, polishing an apple, then placing it on the porch railing while he refilled his glass with cider. “I have to go wherever you go so that I can keep an eye on you. Captain’s orders.”
Ven laughed. “Yes. And so that I can keep an eye on you. That’s what friends do—they look out for each other.”
Char nodded and reached over to pick up the apple he had carefully polished.
It was gone.
So was Ida, but the sound of loud munching could be heard inside the inn, fading away as she ambled toward the kitchen.
“Gah!” Char snorted in frustration. “There’s a bloody dozen apples right there on the table! Why does she always have to take mine?”
Ven chuckled. “She’s trying to get you to take notice of her,” he said. “And me, and Clem, and all the people she steals from in Kingston. She’s good—you saw her lock that Rover’s box. She could take anything she wanted and no one would ever know—but she likes getting caught. She must be alone in the world.”
“We’re all alone in the world,” Char muttered grumpily. “You don’t see us stealin’ each other’s things, do ya?”
“No, but that’s because we’re not alone,” said Ven. “I have a family, no matter how far away they are. You have the crew of the Serelinda—and we both have each other. We’re not alone. But Ida—I bet she has nobody.”
“Maybe,” agreed Char. “Well, I have to get back to work. Mrs. Snodgrass says a large number of people are coming for a party tonight, and the inn is going to be full again. Lots of work to be done in the kitchen.”
“What a hardship,” Ven said. “We all know what you like best about being in the kitchen.”
“Yes—Felitza,” Char said dreamily.
Clemency raised an eyebrow. “Why is that, Char?”
“Look at this cornbread,” Char said, waving it in front of her nose. “It’s perfect—not an ounce of ash, not a burn mark anywhere. Buttery, with a touch of honey. That girl is a goddess.”
Ahead of them they heard a giggle. Both boys looked up to see Saeli watching them over her small shoulder, a twinkle in her eye. She turned quickly and hurried into the inn, followed by Clemency.
“Come on,” Ven said, rising and brushing the crumbs from his shirt. “Let’s go see if Mrs. Snodgrass needs help with anything. I need to go to town later. I have to tell someone about my new position. She deserves to hear it before anyone else.”
Char crammed the rest of the cornbread into his mouth and stood up.
At his feet the grass suddenly flattened, and a patch of daisies sprang up in front of him.
“Whoa,” Char said, stopping with one foot in midair. He put his foot down, then called his thanks to Saeli into the inn. “What do ya think she’s trying to say with this?” he asked Ven, squatting down to examine the delicate white petals.
Ven coughed. “I think it’s a reference to your
kitchen goddess,” he said.
Char’s eyebrows knit together. “What? ‘She loves me’? Or ‘she loves me not’?” He looked embarrassed.
“Maybe she just thinks you should pick them, give them to her, and tell her how much you admire her skills with cornbread,” Ven said.
“Hmmm.” Char considered for a moment. “Not a bad thought at that.” He snatched the flowers from the ground and followed Ven into the inn.
As the door with the golden griffin closed behind them, the flower boxes at the inn’s windows swelled with greenery, then exploded with bright blossoms of white and red.
No one was there a moment later to see the flower beds and gardens that lined the pathway to the inn’s door erupt in color, a living rainbow of flowers blooming across the wide green lawn and all the way to the crossroads.
And remaining.
32
The Second-to-Last Chapter
THE WAVES ROLLED UNDER THE ABANDONED PIER.
Ven had been staring out into the sea since late afternoon, but there was still no sign of the merrow.
* * *
I don’t know why I expected to see her. I suppose I just hoped I would. I know she was disappointed the last time we saw each other. There really was no reason for her to come back.
* * *
Just when the sun had finally sunk below the horizon, leaving just a little orange arc at the edge of the sky, a tail broke the surface of the water, waving.
Ven scrambled to his feet and ran to the edge of the broken pier.
“Amariel!” he shouted into the wind. “Here!”
The merrow appeared a moment later in front of him, water streaming from her hair and face.
“Did you stop your friend from disappearing?”
“Yes, and I am so glad to see you,” Ven said, kneeling down at the dock’s edge. “I wanted to thank you for everything you did for us. I have so much to tell you. And I brought you a treat. A friend of mine assures me that every favor should be rewarded with a treat.” He reached out and handed her what was left of the boiled-sugar guard tower he bought his first day in town.
“Well, you do owe me some stories,” Amariel said, smiling slightly as she took it. “After all, I told you hours’ worth, and all you did was lie on your back and shiver.” She popped the candy into her mouth, and Ven had to struggle not to laugh at the look on her face.
“Those stories brought me a great deal of good luck,” Ven said. And he told her about what had happened since he had seen her last.
“It doesn’t surprise me that the merrow tale won you the job,” she said when he had finished. “Our stories are so very much more interesting than yours, I imagine. So, are you ready to come now and visit the deep? We can go see Asa the fisherman in the morning and have him cut you some gills. You will see things that no other land-liver has, and learn stories that will make that king glad he hired you.”
Ven sighed, then shook his head sadly.
“I want to,” he said, “but I can’t today. I have so many things to do first—so many places I know the king wants me to go here on the land. But one day, maybe.”
He thought of the tales she told him while he floated on the broken hull of the ship, and suddenly an idea struck him. “But you could come with me!” he said excitedly.
The merrow blinked. “How?”
“Didn’t you say that a merrow can grow legs and walk on the land if she entrusts her cap to a human man?”
“Yes,” Amariel said. “So?”
Ven coughed, suddenly embarrassed. “Well, I realize I’m not human, exactly, and not really a man yet, but we could see if it would work. You could give me your cap, and I would keep it safe. And then you might be able to grow legs, at least for a little while, and come and explore the dry world.”
“What happens if I go all human?” Amariel said disdainfully. “I told you, merrows who stay in the dry world lose their personalities and become dull and boring.”
“If I find that is happening, I promise you I will drag you right back to this pier, put the cap back on your head, and toss you into the sea,” Ven said, only half joking.
“Hmmm,” said the merrow.
“So, what do you say? Will you come?” Ven asked anxiously.
The merrow considered for a moment, then shook her head, swimming backwards.
“I want to,” she said, “but I can’t today. One day, maybe. Goodbye.”
“Wait!” Ven called as she drifted over the crest of a coming wave, preparing to dive. “Will you come back, at least? Will I ever see you again?”
Amariel’s smile widened.
“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe not. One never knows.”
With that, she dove into the next wave and disappeared into the endless blue of the sea.
Ven watched for a while, knowing that he would not see her again that day, but waiting anyway until the sun had disappeared beyond the horizon completely. Then he headed to the city gate to catch the wagon back to the Crossroads Inn in the twilight.
When he arrived, Ven could feel a difference in the place, and in the crossroads. He climbed out of the wagon, thanked the driver, then stood in the middle of the road, just watching for a little while.
Beyond the darkness of the crossroads, the inn itself was full of light and noise, with music playing, the sound of dancing and laughter, and lanterns shone in most of the windows. Mrs. Snodgrass has a full house again, Ven thought, pleased.
But even more than the inn, the fields around the crossroads had changed.
The little cemetery was peaceful.
The night was quiet and dark, and the stars shone almost as brightly as they did at sea.
33
The Last Chapter—and the First Chapter
* * *
So now I am sitting in my new home, in front of the fire, listening to McLean singing quietly to an invisible audience, and writing in the journal that the king gave me.
I am trying to put down on paper all the things I can remember since my adventure began. I’ve tried to draw the things that I can’t describe well in words, but I am even less of an artist than a writer. I guess the king is right—all skills get better with practice.
On the morning of my birthday, I was sure I would never have a beard, a life, or a story worth telling of it. I still don’t have a beard, though it’s coming along nicely. And I’m not sure how much of a life I will have; no one ever is. But I do have a story. And that’s coming along nicely, too.
My father always said that any letter or tale should be written from beginning to end with the same quill pen. I suppose the message there is that one should keep a story brief and to the point. But some tales are longer than others. It seems to me that the more excitement a story holds, the larger the feather which is sharpened into the quill that writes it needs to be.
So you can probably guess which feather I decided to use to pen this one.
And I sharpened it with the knife in the jack-rule, so that the words it writes might be as measured and as accurate as possible.
All of this wondrous, terrifying, amazing adventure began with a birthday gift from an albatross. I have come to believe that she didn’t just lose the feather by random accident, but rather dropped it on me to make me see that sometimes it is the little things in life that carry the most magic.
I owe that bird a lot. She saved my life by catching the eye of the Serelinda. The feather she gave me both spared me from Ida’s itchy fingers and brought me a new, if somewhat reluctant, friend. Her actions made the king want to meet me. Everything good that has happened to me since my birthday began with her gift.
I have also come to realize other things since that morning. For a long time I believed that my father never thought I was good enough at any one thing to become a master of it. Now I realize what he was really doing when he sent me to train in each of the manufacturing areas.
He was teaching me to be the Inspector.
That’s what he was trying to tell me in
his letter. He knew my strength was in looking at everything. He found a way to put my curiosity to work.
My father, who is superstitious but does not believe in magic, is the one who trained me to see it. Maybe I can show it to him someday.
I miss my family very much. Hard as it is for me to believe, I especially miss my brothers teasing me, my mother fussing over me, my sister treating me like a baby—all the things I hated when I was with them. I wish I could show my father that my beard is finally growing in. And I will go back home one day. But for now I have a job to do—and it’s as perfect a task as I could ever hope to be given.
I have a whole world full of magic to explore, a whole lot of pieces of the magic puzzle to find.
And I have a book or two to write.
* * *
* * *
Elizabeth Haydon is currently working to
restore the recently discovered second volume of
The Lost Journals of Ven Polypheme,
The Thief Queen’s Daughter.
Here’s a sneak peek for your eyes only.
Check behind you before you turn the page.
* * *
The Stolen Alleyway
“TRY THE STOLEN ALLEYWAY.”
The three children followed her finger with their eyes. She was pointing to a dark side alleyway off the main street, where a thin vapor of mist appeared stuck between the buildings. At the opening of the alleyway there was a sign.
Steal A’way, it read.
The old woman wiped her nose with the back of her tattered sleeve. “If yer looking fer somethin’ that was stolen, ya best check there first, laddie,” she said, her black teeth glistening in her mouth beside the holes where there were no teeth at all. “That’s the place where stolen things are sold.”
The Floating Island Page 29
