The soup was boiling hot and scalded Quentin’s throat as it went down. Quentin gagged, but Gromer just waited. “Well?”
“Oh, um, definitely more . . . wizzlewoop.”
“Yes, that’s what I says, you can never get enough wizzlewoop. Very rare it is, but I knows where to get it, knows me a spell for that. Old Caradog never knew the spell. His pea soup was never as sumptuous as mine.” Gromer looked up at Quentin, “Who were you again?”
“Quentin Frakes, sir.”
“Quentin . . . Frakes . . . hmmm, where have I heard that before? Wait a minute, I have it!” And suddenly, much to Quentin’s amazement, the old man bounded across the room to a dusty bookshelf on the very far end of the chamber. He scanned the shelves and retrieved a huge leather-bound tome that he carried slowly back to the kitchen table. For several minutes there was silence, while Gromer thumbed his way back through the volume. Finally he stopped and beckoned to Quentin.
“See,” he said pointing at a line drawing on the page, “that was Quentin Frakes. I knew I had heard that name before. Why do you use his name?”
Quentin peered down at the picture. It was him, but how much should he tell this strange old magician? Could he trust him? Gromer was staring at him now, waiting for an answer.
“He was my ancestor,” he replied, hoping that would satisfy Gromer. He had tried to do the math in his head, working out how many generations back he would need to go, but got tripped up along the way and hoped that this generic answer would satisfy the magician.
“Ah, that would explain the charm,” he replied. “I wondered about that. May I see it?”
Reluctantly, Quentin moved towards Gromer, who examined his amulet.
“Truly exquisite,” he said. “I had to learn the hard way of course, and then me niece Cleona disapproved. Said I couldn’t visit, not unless I kept to practical magic.”
“Cleona?” asked Quentin.
“Lives over on Inis Fraoigh. Nice place to visit I always says, but you’d never catch me leaving Wales. Here’s me home, right? Look around you, was there ever a finer castle?”
“Um . . .”
“Anyhow, how about some tea? Keep us going until the pea soup’s ready.” He filled a large copper kettle with water and set it on the stove, then he took out his silver wand and pointed it at the burner.
“Golau!” he chanted, and flames rose up instantly beneath the kettle. Quentin placed his hand on his own wand now, ready to put out the flames if necessary, but they died down in a second or two, and after just a few minutes the kettle was whistling merrily.
Gromer placed a large willow-patterned teapot on the table, added three heaped teaspoons of loose tea, and poured in boiling water from the kettle. “None of those new-fangled teabag thingies for me. I don’t trust those Tipps monkeys. Seen them on the telly! Not natural, that.”
“Chimps.”
“Come again?”
“They’re not monkeys. They’re chimps. I . . .,um . . . interviewed some of them, you see, at Twycross Zoo,” explained Quentin.
“Did you, indeed? Magicians all, I would wager.”
“No, actually, just chimps, but there was an orangutan animagus. Pointed me in this direction, actually.”
“So, what are you actually doing here?” asked Gromer.
“Oh, you know, just curious,” replied Quentin.
“Hmmm . . .” He poured tea into two chipped brown mugs. “Milk and sugar?”
“Thank you, two lumps please.”
The tea had a musty smell, but tasted rather good after you got used to its strange aroma. The two magicians drank in silence for a while.
“You’ll stay, of course!” said Gromer suddenly. “An apprentice, it’s been many years since I’ve had an apprentice. Well, actually, I’ve never had an apprentice, but I’ve always wanted one. Oh, what fun!”
Quentin looked at the old man and around his “castle” and came to a decision. Yes, he would stay for a while. This place was far enough out of the way that Alistair was unlikely to track him down here, and maybe Gromer knew something. Maybe underneath this strange exterior was the path to the knowledge he was seeking. So yes, he would stay for a while.
Chapter 13
Aldous Wrigley adjusted his hat. It was an uncommonly warm May morning in St. Louis and Aldous was overdressed. He wished David would walk a little slower. For an overweight man he was remarkably agile, keeping up a brisk trot as he circled the perimeter of Forest Park as he did every Sunday without fail. Aldous wondered why he kept coming out here. David did not seem like the kind of man that usually embraced outside exercise, and in any case there were parks much closer to his home than Forest Park. But every weekend he was back here and the pattern, his route around the park, never changed. He had reported that much back to Cynthia and wondered why Cynthia wanted him to continue following David. Clearly, he wasn’t having an affair. But while Cynthia kept paying him, Aldous would keep following her husband.
Now he watched as David walked up to the Jewel Box and peered in through the window. It was closed, of course; it was always closed. It did look pretty in there, though. As David moved away, Aldous glanced in through the glass. Was that a snake he saw in there? No, it couldn’t be. The Jewel Box wasn’t supposed to house snakes or any other creatures for that matter, just tropical plants and flowers, yet this was not first time on his Sunday strolls that he thought he’d seen something moving inside.
He glanced up and noticed that David was on the move again. He was walking north, away from the Jewel Box now, and up toward the Muny Theatre. It was closed in the spring, but in just a month would be starting its summer season. Aldous loved the theatre and had a season ticket for the summer. Hey, if he was still on this job through the summer, he could come out here and trail David during the day and then take in a show in the evening!
David walked past the Muny and continued going north. He kept walking for a good forty-five minutes, by the end of which Aldous was exhausted and sweating profusely. He was extremely happy to see David enter the Visitor’s Center and make his way over to the small café within.
David bought himself a cup of coffee and sat down at a corner table. Aldous badly needed water. He went up to the counter. There was a woman in front of him at the counter with a small girl. They were taking their time with their order.
“I’ll take a pancake . . . no wait, does it have cinnamon? You’re allergic to cinnamon aren’t you, poppet? How about grilled cheese? You like grilled cheese, don’t you? What kind of cheese do you have? Is it low fat? What kind of bread do you want? And to drink . . .”
Aldous was getting agitated. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a boy of about seventeen years old approach David. On seeing him, David rose. They were going to leave. Aldous needed to follow them, but he also desperately needed a bottle of water.
“Okay, so that’s what Suzy wants. Now I’ll take . . . do you have sourdough?”
“Excuse me, madam, would you mind if I just got a bottle of water? I’m in a hurry . . . I’ve got cash.”
The woman and the little girl stared at him. The server was furious. “That’s really rude, sir!”
“But, please . . . I need to . . .”
Through his peripheral vision, he noticed David and his new companion leaving. Desperately he grabbed a bottle of water from on top of the counter and threw a five-dollar bill at the cashier.
“Keep the change!” he yelled, and ran out the door.
As he exited the building, he saw David and his new companion walking quickly along a path to his right. Aldous blundered along behind, sloshing water over himself in his attempt to drink and run at the same time. He was breathing heavily. Definitely getting too old for this kind of stuff, he thought. I need to get myself a young assistant, maybe an intern. Couldn’t afford to pay them anything, of course. He started framing the ad he would put up on Craigslist: “Have you ever wanted to be a Private Detective? Well, here’s your chance to enter into this exciting field
!” Exciting field—ha! He’d been following this guy around for months now. He’d personally decided that David Katz must be the most boring person on planet earth (and possibly on other planets as well). Looking for a lost cat would probably be more interesting.
Oh good, they stopped. The two men had reached a secluded part of the park and were sitting down on a bench. Aldous came closer and hid behind a bush to listen to their conversation. Probably some kind of business transaction, he thought, maybe this boy had a lead on some rare furs or something. Although he hadn’t said it outright to Cynthia, he thought it far more likely that her husband was in on some shady business with some illicit fur traders than that he was having an affair.
He wasn’t surprised when he saw money changing hands. David handed over a wad of cash to the young man, which he counted and put in an inside pocket. From his hiding place, Aldous could only make out snippets of the conversation.
“You know what you’re looking for?” asked David urgently.
“Yes.”
“And you’re sure you can get it.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t take your money if I wasn’t sure.”
“This time next week, then. Do you have a number I can call?”
“No, no phones. You’re just going to have to trust . . .”
The men shook hands and then walked off in different directions through the park. Aldous got up from his hiding place and dusted off some stray leaves from his jacket and hat. Well, at least he’d have something to tell Cynthia now.
Chapter 14
Miri sat on her bunk. She was alone in her room tonight. Lilith and Zamir had gone off to Ted Drewes for frozen custard. She took out her notebook. She’d been trying to piece together the thoughts that were aroused that night at Sarah Sinclair’s house.
Miriam . . . Sarah said she looked like her grandmother Miriam. Miri remembered the name, but couldn’t quite place it. Something her omama had said to her years before. There was a connection, she knew it, but it was all so fuzzy. She’d thought about going back to see Sarah on her own, but she felt shy and didn’t want to impose. Her appearance had shocked Sarah, and Sarah had suffered a great deal. She didn’t want to dredge up unpleasant memories.
She looked down at the paper, at the words she had written but didn’t remember writing.
“I am always here. Even though you deny it, pretend that I am gone, I am always here. Will always be here. For eternity.”
Miri gazed at the words. She was perplexed. Why did she just write that? Her temples began to ache. Miri had been getting a lot of headaches recently. She switched off the lamp and lay down on her bed. Darkness sometimes helped. She closed her eyes.
The words flashed neon–garish and invasive—“I am always here!”
No, not now. Please go away.
“But I can’t go away,” came Alistair’s snarl, “I am always here!”
“It hurts!”
“Embrace me, daughter. And I’ll make it all better!”
“No!” Miri screamed in her sleep. She woke up with a start.
She switched on the lamp, despite her pounding head. Instinctively, she reached for the charm in the bedside table drawer. The silver tabby cat’s yellow eyes were glowing brightly. It looked up at her accusingly. Maybe she should hand it over to Jessamyn? Maybe she could destroy it in her scrying bowl, the same way she had destroyed the scraps of cloth that Alistair had once enchanted. But Miri knew she couldn’t do that. This charm was her heritage just as much as the one she wore under her nightshirt. She needed to preserve it. In any case, she figured the problem was inside her. She had taken in Alistair’s emotions when she’d killed him. She needed to purge herself of them. She just didn’t know how.
Chapter 15
Aldous sat by his computer screen. He had taken a picture of David’s companion—a lanky youth with long, lackluster, dirty-blond hair. He had plugged the description into every database he officially had access to (and a few he didn’t), but had come up with nothing. He’d hoped that he would be able to give Cynthia a name when she came by today for her weekly meeting. He would just have to show her the picture. Maybe she’d know who it was.
The bell on the door jingled and Cynthia tottered in on her impossibly high heels. Aldous guessed that she would probably only be about five feet tall if she ever took them off, but she probably never did. Despite the warm spring weather, she still wore a fur jacket. Today it looked like jaguar. Aldous shuddered. He understood that fur was her husband’s business and was currently paying his bills, but he still thought that the jaguar would have preferred to have kept his coat.
“Good afternoon, Aldous my dear. Do you have any news for me?”
“Actually, yes, ma’am.” He passed over the picture of the youth.
Cynthia stared at it. “And who might this be?”
“I was hoping you might shed light on it. Your husband met this young man in the park yesterday afternoon and some money was exchanged.”
“I’ve never seen him before, no,” said Cynthia. “You don’t know anything else?”
“No . . . do you want me to keep following him?”
“What? Oh yes, yes . . .” Cynthia seemed distracted.
“Would you like a glass of iced tea? It’s awfully warm out there today.”
“No, no. I’d better be going. Thank you.” As Cynthia left, the bell on the door of the clock shop jingled.
Aldous sat for a while looking at the picture. Oh well, he sighed, I suppose I’ve got to go back to the park.
Chapter 16
So Quentin stayed on in the castle of Gromer the Green. He enjoyed living with the strange old magician. As eccentric as he was, he was also easygoing and allowed Quentin to experiment with his potions and salves. They learned from each other. Gromer was constantly surprised by the extent of Quentin’s knowledge. More than a few times, Quentin caught the old man staring at him in an odd way. Gromer understood that Quentin wasn’t telling him the full story, but he let it go.
He had not given up his search for immortality. When Gromer went out foraging for ingredients, Quentin would ponder the depths of his bookshelf. There was one book in particular he enjoyed. It was written in Welsh and was titled, “Mae’r llyfr hynafol y alcemydd” It had taken him several days to translate the title: “The Ancient Book of the Alchemist.”
Quentin had spoken Welsh many centuries before when he was Merlin’s apprentice, but he was rusty after so many decades in Vienna. Still, for hours each day he pondered the pages of this ancient tome. Much of the alchemy discussed within concerned the manipulation of metals, but Quentin had no desire to create gold. Surely this alchemist had some insight into immortality.
He would scribble down notes in pencil in the margins of the book. One section of the book intrigued him. It referred to a magical being from Ireland that it called “Gwyrdd Tylwyth Teg,” the Green Fairy. The fairy apparently lived on a small islet off the coast of Ireland and could only be summoned by the innocent. It was a dangerous endeavor though, as many a youth had lost their innocence, and in some cases their lives, seeking out the Tylwyth Teg, yet for those who survived the encounter, the secret of immortality was apparently one step closer.
Several chapters of the book were dedicated to stories of those who had encountered the fairy. Most were cautionary tales, as few had come out of the encounter unscathed. Quentin was fascinated by the story of a young girl, just twelve years old, who, according to legend, had actually managed to trick the Tylwyth Teg.
Quentin was engrossed in her story when the door to the castle-cave burst open and Gromer charged back inside. Quentin quickly shut the book and covered it with a tea towel.
It was raining heavily outside and Gromer was soaking wet. Rivulets of water had collected in his clothing and were dripping steadily onto the floor of the cave, forming a puddle where he stood.
Quentin rushed towards him and picked up a towel that had been flung over a chair. Gromer waved it away. “Unnecessary!” he said,
and shook himself hard like a hound. Water droplets hit practically every spot in the room, but then Gromer took out his wand and waved it, and everything, including him, was instantly dry.
“Nice weather for ducks out there!” he said pleasantly, “not that I saw any, probably been scared away, I’d say. Did I tells ya?”
“What?” asked Quentin.
“I smelled summat, with me nose, right here on me face.” Gromer punched at his own nose with a stubby finger. “Me nose has never been wrong. It knows, it does, me nose.”
“What’s out there?” asked Quentin.
“Dogs . . . they’d trampled all the wizzlewoop. How am I supposed to make pea soup now?”
The hair on the back of Quentin’s neck stood on end. “What do you mean, dogs?”
“They’re out there, a-howling, you know? Never ‘eard anything like it before. Me thinks they be hungry, but they ain’t getting any of me pea soup, that’s for sure.”
Quentin edged over to the window and peered out. He could see them out there, the shadows of the wolves. Wards, he thought, this cave needed protective wards and fast.
“Gromer, help me. We . . . er . . . have to save the pea soup. To do that we need wards. Strong wards all around the cave.”
Gromer walked over to his cauldron and gazed into the bubbling green goo. He seemed mesmerized. Quentin walked around and around the room with his silver wand out, casting every ward spell he could think of. Tomorrow he would leave. He was putting this man’s life in danger. That wasn’t fair. Tomorrow he would leave . . .
The howling continued throughout the night. For a long time, the old man stood crouched over his cauldron, until Quentin walked over to him and gently took the large wooden spoon from his hand and lead him over to the old featherbed on which he slept. He sunk down onto the bed, and within minutes was snoring.
Quentin stayed awake and the howling continued. At around two o’clock in the morning, there came a banging on the door. Quentin held his breath. From his bed, Gromer let out a low wail. The banging continued. Quentin clutched his wand and mumbled defensive spells under his breath. It felt as if the whole room was shaking now, but still the wards held. The banging continued for over an hour, but finally the visitor gave up and the howls became fainter and fainter, until by dawn they were replaced by the patter of light rain.
Argentum (P.A.W.S. Book 2) Page 6
