The Grimoire of Kensington Market

by Lauren B. Davis

  * * *

  HER THROAT CLOSED OVER AND TEARS SPRANG TO HER eyes. There was nothing to it but to see what tomorrow would bring. She curled up with Badger under the bearskins. The ground didn’t feel hard or cold and the moonlight and starlight silvered the air. The snow had stopped falling now and it glittered, clean and quiet.

  * * *

  MAGGIE DREAMS …

  Something in the deeper forest calls her. She walks along the path and then she is alone in the wood. She is not afraid but feels the pull of something nearby. The path leads to the trees and as she nears, her fingers and toes tingle and she smells warm earth and fresh leaves, roses and what? Peony? Gardenia?

  She steps a few feet inside the forest and then stops. Is this the same wood? It is warm here, and the trees are in leaf. The soft earth yields underfoot. She turns, intending to step back out of the wood, but when she does there is no end to the trees.

  “So that’s the way it’s going to be, is it?” she asks aloud.

  “Oh, yes, it’s the way it ever was,” says a voice, small and whispery.

  Maggie spins, looking for the source, but there is nothing save the trees, the undergrowth, the scatter of flowers. Not even a squirrel or mouse … but wait, those flowers … Maggie places one foot off the path toward a patch of yellow flowers growing under an old oak. She fears wandering from the path completely. The flowers dip and wave encouragingly. Maggie takes a deep breath and walks several paces, then looks back. She lets the air out of her lungs in a relieved rush. The path remains.

  In a patch near her foot the flowers make a sound very much like giggling. Maggie bends down. They resemble daffodils; the centre cups are bright yellow, but silver edges the rims, and the perianths are like rubies. As she puts her face close, the flowers pull back.

  “Do you mind?” they say in a chorus that sounds like a cross between tinkling bells and a squeaky violin.

  “I have a question I’d like to ask you.”

  “No harm in asking,” they trill. “And since we know all sorts of things we rarely get credit for, you could do much worse than asking us. It’s the benefit of roots, you see. We are all connected, don’t you know, under the earth, just singing with important things and almost no one pays any attention, more pity on them. What do we know, you might ask? Well, we know, for example, that this time tomorrow a flock of starlings will fly overhead so thick you’d think it was the middle of the night, and we know the skunk in the burrow by the river has had five kits and that no matter what they tell you, you simply can’t trust the violets.”

  Maggie’s ears itch from the ting-pinging and squeaking of their voices, but they are such happy things, so full of life, she doesn’t mind. “Well, I’m sure you’re a great authority on many things, so I wonder if you’ve seen my brother? Have you seen Kyle, and can you tell me where he is now?”

  The flowers bend together and confer. As they do the flowers all around ripple as though a pebble had been tossed in a pond and after a moment the ripple returns, and the flowers turn back to her.

  “We know where he’s been, and we know where he’s gone, but we don’t know where he is.”

  Maggie’s heart skips. “Tell me where he’s gone then.”

  “You know that already. He’s gone north. Isn’t she silly?” They say this last to themselves.

  “I know he’s gone north, but I don’t know how to get there myself.”

  “Why would you want to go there?” they shriek.

  Maggie rubs her ears. “I want to bring him home.”

  And oh, how they laugh at that. “Nobody comes home. Silly, silly, silly.”

  Maggie thinks she might cry.

  “Hold on now. No cause for tears, we’re not on her side, you know. We’re just saying. But if you’re set on it, and you seem to be, silly girl, you just need to follow the river and you’ll find the door right enough.”

  “Where’s the river?”

  “Between the banks and the moon, of course.” They laugh and laugh until the whole forest floor is trembling.

  * * *

  KYLE STANDS IN THE MIDDLE OF A GREAT SILENT FOREST. He cannot remember how he came to be here, only that he is lost. It is cold, and he has a coat made of beaver pelts. It smells of warm cider and woodsmoke. A woman gave it to him; a woman with eyes the icy blue of celestine. He walks along a path and smells something sickly sweet, like cut flowers left in a vase too long, the water gone rancid and vile.

  “I want to go back to the woman,” Kyle says to no one in particular. His voice is thin and weak, lost among the pine trees.

  “She’s waiting for you,” says a raspy voice.

  In a patch near his foot are flowers Kyle has never seen before. They are fleshy and look something like daffodils, but the centre cups have sharp edges, and the perianths are like blackened, burned sticks. They crackle with each movement.

  “Do you talk?” Kyle thinks how absurd they are.

  “We do and have better manners than some.”

  “You said she’s waiting for me.”

  “We did, and she is. Waiting for you like a silver fox at a mouse hole. Be careful, little mouse.”

  “You’re idiots. She is everything beautiful, not like you grotesque things.”

  “Grotesque, are we?” Their voices are like rusty hinges, like the squawk of protesting soon-to-be-beheaded chickens, like bones popping in a fire. “We’re not the ones in that putrid old skin. We are blessed with beauty.”

  The fetid scent of them turns Kyle’s stomach. “How do I find her?”

  “Find her? Fool.” They laugh again, their fleshy, sticky heads bobbing with mirth, and it’s all he can do not to stomp on them.

  “You’ve already found her,” they say, quickly, as if they’ve read his mind. “Yes, you have. Just hurry along the path and she’s right there. Always waiting. Silver fox, you know.”

  “I hate riddles,” says Kyle, and he raises his foot to crush them, but they pull back into the earth so quickly his foot comes down only on the hard ground.

  “Good boy,” says a voice like silver bells. “And so hungry, walking all this way in the dark wood.”

  He turns to find her, nestled in fox furs, in a silver sleigh pulled by a great white bear. He runs to her and clambers into the sleigh. She opens the furs and lets him snuggle next to her. He nuzzles her neck. Her skin is electric, sparking into him with something that feels almost like heat.

  * * *

  BADGER WAS GROWLING.

  Maggie did not want to wake up, for she was sure the flowers had more to tell her, if she could just figure out the right question to ask.

  Badger growled again. She opened her eyes. The hackles on the dog’s back bristled. She put her hand on his neck. “Stay,” she said. Her head was muzzy. “What is it? What do you hear?”

  Badger scrambled from under the bearskins and stood, every muscle tense.

  Maggie stood as well. “Heel, Badger, heel.” The dog trembled at her side, his lips curled, showing teeth.

  The ravens had disappeared. Percival shied and before she could grab the reins, he reared, snapped the tether and galloped off into the night in the direction they’d come.

  Maggie stepped out of the lean-to and backed against the tree, cursing herself for not bringing a dagger or something. She picked a branch, as thick as her forearm, from the ground. Better than nothing. Yes, there was movement out there on the far side of the carriage. Her knuckles were white against the dark bark of the branch. Badger jerked, as though about to dash and she grabbed his collar. “Steady, boy. Steady.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  A BIG MAN STEPPED OUT OF THE SHADOWS into the moonlight. He wore a wide-brimmed hat and the high collar of his coat covered much of his face. His arms were spread, and his hands held no weapons.

  �
��Now, why would a horse run off like that?” The voice was incongruous for the body out of which it came. It didn’t sound like a man.

  “Can’t blame him for being spooked,” said Maggie.

  “By me? I can’t imagine. Now, by them, well, that’s another story.”

  Seven figures stepped out of the darkness. Badger barked madly, snapping, straining under Maggie’s hand. She looked to her right and left. Men ringed them. The branch was slippery in her palm.

  “I’d tell that dog to stand down, unless you’d prefer I have him shot.”

  Yes, the voice was unmistakably female, never mind the speaker was Alvin’s size.

  “Badger! Enough. Enough.” He stopped barking but continued to growl. She didn’t know how long she’d be able to hold him. “I’ve got nothing you want,” she said.

  “Is that so?” The woman, for a woman it was, took off her hat, revealing a shock of choppy red hair. An owl was tattooed on her cheek. She ran her hand along the carriage. “This is a pretty buggy. Not much use without the horse, though. Be that as it may, no one comes here in such as this without they’ve got money, and lots of it. Why, look at these hinges. That’s not brass, now is it, my brothers?”

  Brothers? The faces, the eyes, the noses, yes, there was something familial about them. The shades of reddish hair, a certain set of the shoulders …

  “Looks like gold,” said one.

  “Pretty,” said another.

  “Are we still talking about the carriage?” asked the first, and they looked at Maggie and laughed.

  Badger snarled.

  The ring of men closed in until they stood between the carriage and the tree against which Maggie and Badger held their ground. “Don’t come near us, or I’ll set the dog on you.”

  Out from the folds of their coats, the men pulled a collection of guns and knives.

  “Now, why don’t you put that toothpick away, missy. If you value the dog, you’d be wise to tell him to behave.”

  Maggie dropped the branch. “Badger, sit. Sit, I said.”

  “Oh, much better,” said the woman. She asked Maggie if she had a belt and when she said she didn’t, the woman ordered one of the men to remove his and give it to Maggie. “Now, use that and fashion a lead for the dog, right? And muzzle him with something.”

  “There’s no need. He won’t bite unless I tell him to.”

  “Call me untrusting,” said the woman. “Do it. Or I’ll tell one of my brothers to handle it.”

  Maggie knelt beside Badger, held his face in her hands and whispered, “Be a good boy, sweetheart. I’m sorry. It’ll be all right.” Badger whined, and tossed his head, but let her loop the belt through his collar. She stood, holding the belt. “I don’t have anything to muzzle him with.”

  The woman fiddled at her neck and drew out a sweat-stiff bandana. She balled it in her fist and tossed it at Maggie. It was a sign of how filthy it was that it stuck together and sailed like a rubber ball. Maggie prayed Badger wouldn’t gag at the smell of it. She kissed his nose and then tied the bandana, but not tightly. He pawed at it for a moment and then sneezed. The men and the woman laughed. “Sit. Good boy.”

  As soon as Badger sat, three of the men rushed to Maggie. Seeing they were about to bind her, she begged to have her hands bound in front so she could keep hold of Badger’s leash.

  “What do you say, Beth?” one of the men asked the big woman. He had very bright blue eyes.

  Beth approached and stood so close Maggie could smell her meaty breath. “I don’t think she needs to be bound. Where would she go?” She touched Maggie’s hair. It was very hard not to pull away. She yanked, and laughed when Maggie managed not to shriek.

  “Got a bit of heart, eh?” Beth said. In her hand she held one of the silver birds Maggie wore pinned to her braid. “Pretty.” She plucked the other one out as well. “What’s your name?”

  “Maggie.” She tilted her head toward the dog, “And he’s Badger.”

  “Well, Maggie, I’m Beth Castoff, and these here are my brothers, and we’re all one big happy family, so let’s go home and meet Mother, shall we?” She turned to her brothers. “Tab, mark where this carriage is, and come back for it with a horse later. It’ll be first light soon. Turner, grab that basket of food out of the carriage. Put whatever’s in it in your pack.”

  The brothers grumbled, saying they could use some kip, but did as they were told. They began marching along, Maggie and Badger in front of Beth.

  “Maggie,” called Beth after a few minutes, “what brings you to our woods? Rude of me not to have asked.” When Maggie declined to answer, Beth laughed. “Come on, you can tell me. If I’m not mistaken that carriage comes from Tilden’s place.”

  “You know Wallis Tilden?”

  Beth snorted. “It’s not like we have tea. I’ve heard tales. I’ve a mind to visit there one day. But you chose this road at the fork and not the other, so there’s a reason you’re here. What is it?”

  Maggie tucked that piece of information away. It was possible this world worked the same way the Grimoire did. You walked the roads you were meant to walk. What of choice, then? She stumbled on a bit of root. This wasn’t the time for philosophical exercises. Although Maggie questioned the wisdom of telling this ragtag pack of thieves her business, Beth was probably right. “I’m looking for someone.”

  “And who might that be?” Beth’s tone was that of a friendly neighbourhood shopkeeper. “No one comes this way without our knowing, isn’t that right, my boys?” They avowed it was. Beth drank from a flask she pulled from her pocket.

  Badger turned and growled low at Beth. “I don’t think your dog likes me,” she said.

  “You haven’t given him any reason to.”

  “I’d have thought not killing him would have counted for something. Now, come on, who are you looking for?”

  “I’m looking for my brother.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so? I’m partial to brothers, aren’t I, boys?”

  Her brothers avowed she was.

  “His name is Kyle.”

  Something flitted across Beth’s face, but too swiftly for Maggie to know what it meant. “And what might his business here have been?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Oh, come on, smart girl such as yourself. I don’t believe it. Do you, boys?”

  They avowed they did not.

  Beth poked Maggie in the back, making her stumble. “What’s the point, Maggie? What’s the point of all this palaver? You’ll tell me eventually, what with the way you care about your doggie. I’m patient only to a point and thus far you’ve seen the best of me.”

  “I’m not being evasive. I honestly don’t know. He wandered in here from the Forest, if you know where that is.”

  “I know it’s a place neither here nor there.”

  Maggie considered this an entirely apt description. “Yes, well, my brother’s lost, and sent word for me to find him.”

  “Did he? Huh.” Beth said no more to Maggie after that.

  Eventually the path turned into a cobbled road, and ahead loomed a great stone manor. The pewter-coloured dawn rustled her skirts at the edges of trees and the high ground on which the stone house stood.

  A stone wall enclosed the manor house and iron gates in the centre opened at their approach. Half a dozen women and four old men came to greet them. Inside the gates, chickens scattered and a great grey hound bounded out. The mammoth whiskered beast practically bowled Badger over and then ran in circles sniffing him and barking. The dog stuck her hindquarters up in the air and wagged her tail, inviting Badger to play. Well, thought Maggie, at least someone’s friendly. Badger let the dog sniff him but showed no desire to frolic.

  “Well, if it ain’t Lady Beth,” said a woman with a third eye tattooed in the middle of her forehea
d. “What’s this then?”

  “Just a little bird for my collection, Bridget.” Beth adjusted the pair of curved knives in her belt. “Dog! Oso!” At the command, the hound’s ears flattened. Her tail curled between her legs. Her back hunched and she urinated slightly. Beth ignored her. The dog rushed to her side and sat, shivering.

  “Bridget, girl, got something for you,” said Beth.

  Whereas the names of the men all seemed to begin with the letter T, the women’s names all started with B. Bridget, Betty, Blossom, Brenda, Beverley, Bunny – the smallest. They flocked around Beth and the men. The younger ones wanted to know what Beth had brought them, and she took Turner’s pack and tossed things from Wallis Tilden’s basket – jars of jam and candied plums – as well as trinkets she pulled from her pockets – coins and handkerchiefs and a string of amber beads. Maggie saw one of the silver bird clips from her hair go into the pocket of the woman named Blossom. The men handed out more presents, and although none of them seemed of any true value to Maggie, the women shrieked with delight.

  With the present giving done, Beth ambled over to Maggie, the dog at her side. “Seems we both like dogs.” The shaggy hound squirmed submissively at her side. Beth raised her hand as though to strike and the dog dropped to her belly.

  “Down,” said Maggie, and Badger lay on his belly, too.

  Beth laughed. “We each have our methods.” She put her arm around Maggie’s shoulders. “Come on, you’re with me.”

  They crossed the courtyard. Ducks and chickens scattered. Around the walls stood pens of livestock – goats and sheep – as well as stacks of wine casks, trunks and suitcases. Maggie wondered if the latter came from other unwary travellers. Mounds of musty straw and manure produced a thick funk. The half-ruined manor lay before them. Pigeons and swallows nested in the exposed beams and openings in the walls. It seemed unnaturally dark; even though the sun was beginning to caress the landscape with buttery fingers, the manor remained shadowed.