The Grimoire of Kensington Market

by Lauren B. Davis

  The fire and food were doing their jobs. Maggie felt a great warm weight come over her and feared she’d fall asleep in her chair. “I wonder if Badger and I might stay here tonight? I don’t think either of us are up for a journey unless we get some sleep.”

  The old lady picked up a spoon and polished it with her apron. “Of course you may. The one you want lives at the edge of the world, where north becomes south again. You’ve a long way before you. Hundreds of miles.”

  “That far? But we’ll never make it!”

  “Not on foot. But there are other methods. I’ve a sled you can have and a caribou to pull it. They are the best for such things; feet as sure as suction cups.” She stood up. “But that’s for when you’ve rested.”

  Maggie was too tired to talk more. She roused Badger and followed Aunt Ravna along another hallway. As they passed a doorway, Maggie glimpsed a huge kitchen with a bank of stoves against one wall, each one with an enormous boiler on top, and each boiler vented out the wall. She wondered if this was how the tavern managed to stay so nice and toasty. Aunt Ravna continued on, and then turned right and stopped before a large wooden door. It opened onto a stone room with arched ceilings and furs on the floor. A great canopy bed stood against one wall and in the corner was a large stone bathtub with taps for hot and cold water.

  “That bed looks like heaven,” said Maggie. Badger immediately curled up on the fur rug. She put her pack and satchel on the windowsill. The windows looked out on the same thick, featureless whiteness. It made her a little dizzy, all that lack of shape. “You don’t have much of a view,” she said.

  “It’s the clouds. This high up the mountain it’s mostly clouds, but I like it that way. It makes it rather cozy, don’t you think?”

  “We didn’t seem to be that high up at the lakeside.”

  “The lakeside? Oh, no. Once you step into the tavern, you’re stepping into the mountain.”

  “I don’t recall seeing a mountain.”

  “Well, that’s what clouds are good for – covering up what we don’t want seen. Why do you think the Castoffs never raid this side of the lake? It’s because we keep things well hidden from those with ill intent. We’re very handy with clouds.” She chuckled. “You’d be amazed how many people would swear there’s nothing at all on this side of the lake except fog and cloud, cloud and fog.”

  Maggie thought of the great kettles in the kitchen. “You produce the clouds?”

  “Bit of a family business. Secrets passed down and all that. We each have our jobs to do, don’t we? I just have an affinity for clouds.”

  If she got home, what stories Maggie would have to tell Alvin. He might talk about the Komodo dragons of Padar, the fur seals of the Galapagos or the Hamamni Persian Baths of Zanzibar, but a cloud-producing tavern ought to at least match those. He might have escaped a scrap or two in Manila or the Yucatán, but she had escaped the Castoff band of robbers.

  “But I found the tavern without a problem,” she said.

  “I’m also a rather good judge of character. People often miss the most obvious things. No fault of their own. The world can be confusing. A little breeze here. A little updraft or downdraft there. Smidgen of moisture in the air. Things can be hidden or revealed, as needs be. Your needs, I perceived, fell more into the area of revealed.” She giggled and stepped out the door and, as she closed it, said, “Sleep as long as you need, and just pull this bell if you want anything. The others will be getting up soon, but you’re off on your own in this wing of the mountain and won’t be disturbed. We’ll set your plans when you’re rested.”

  And with that she was gone. Nearly comatose, Maggie kicked off her boots, stripped off her clothes and was asleep before her head settled on the pillow.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  MAGGIE WOKE FROM A DREAMLESS SLEEP TO FIND Badger on the bed with his head on her legs. She hadn’t felt so rested in ages. Judging from the light outside the window, either a full day had passed, or no time at all. She supposed she should get up and have a wash. She sniffed her armpit. Ripe indeed. On one of the chairs by the fire lay her freshly cleaned and pressed clothes and on the floor nearby, her boots, polished to a shine. Maggie got out of bed and held her clean turtleneck up to her face. It smelled of roses. “Heavenly,” she said. “I could get used to this.”

  She bathed and dressed, and then she and Badger headed to the tavern’s common room and found it crowded with people dressed in the same style as Aunt Ravna, mostly in embroidered red, the women in hats and scarves as well. Their faces were open, bright, curious and etched with the deep lines that come not only from a good deal of time spent out of doors, but also from smiling and laughing.

  “Well, here’s the sleeping beauty.” Aunt Ravna stood behind the bar and pushed a tankard of spiced cider at Maggie. “Say hello, everyone.”

  A chorus of hellos and welcomes. “Good to have you with us.” “Nice to drop in.” “Heard nothing but good things.” “What a lovely dog.”

  Maggie blushed and realized she could hardly think of another time when a group of people had been genuinely glad to see her for no other reason than that she was there. “Most grateful for the hospitality,” she said.

  “My name is Emel,” said a man smoking a pipe, his blue eyes bright as a dragonfly’s wing. “I fish the lake and the rivers hereabout. Glad to know you.” He held out a calloused hand and Maggie shook it. “Sit down and have a bite.”

  “How long have we been sleeping?” Maggie’s stomach felt like a deflated balloon.

  “We didn’t like to wake you,” said a young woman about Maggie’s age, who smiled shyly and fiddled with the buttons on her burgundy jacket. “It’s been two days, more or less.”

  “Two days?” The suspicion must have shown on her face. The group began to laugh and Aunt Ravna told her not to worry, the length of her sleep had nothing to do with enchantments of any kind and only to do with the degree of her exhaustion.

  “We did check on you a few times, and thought to wake you, for I know you’re in a great rush to be gone, but I made the young ones leave you be. The body knows what it needs and we must listen to the wisdom of that and not be forever fighting it.”

  “Yes, I can see that, and I thank you. Is there somewhere I can take Badger out? Two days is rather a long time for a dog not to pee.”

  This struck the group as hilarious and they broke into more guffaws. It was quite contagious and Maggie couldn’t help but join in. Badger, however, did not find it quite so funny, and walked over to the edge of the bar and lifted his leg. Maggie feared Aunt Ravna would be angry, but on the contrary, she howled with laughter and the rest joined in with hoots and knee slapping.

  “Such a smart dog. How did he know he wasn’t the first to do his business on that spot?” asked Aunt Ravna. “Quite right he is, too. Where are my manners?” She laughed some more. “Oh, I must get him a lovely big bone.”

  “Is there a rag, a bucket? I’ll clean it up,” said Maggie.

  A girl came out of the back room with a sudsy mop and a big grin. “Never mind, I’ll do it. I like dogs,” she said.

  “Eat,” said Emel. “There are no worries here.”

  Women appeared from the kitchen carrying platters. Maggie ate roasted wild goose with stone-bramble jelly, lamb soup, pickled red cabbage and beets, and for dessert cream pancakes. While she ate the people asked her questions about where she came from and found everything amusing. When Maggie tried explaining hockey one of the men laughed so hard he choked and his neighbour had to slap him on the back.

  The door opened and in came a roundish sort of man, slapping the snow off his clothes. “Afternoon, all!”

  “Guivi! All’s well out there?” asked Emel.

  “Oh, sure. Mice, voles, all the little ones tucked up under the snow. Food out for the birds, some nice twigs and moss and so forth for the deer. The foxes
are all sleepy and I suspect they’ll go dormant until it warms up. And this must be Maggie?” He approached her and shook her hand vigorously.

  “Sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. Hospitality here extends to the non-humans as well and Mother’s a bit too old for stomping around in the deep snow. Pleased to meet you, awfully pleased, glad you’re with us. I assume Mother took good care of you?”

  He was rather like a young bear, sturdy and plump and ready for fun. Maggie took to him immediately. “Your mother has been wonderful. Everyone has. Thank you.”

  “Tell him about hockey!” said Emel, and much more laughter followed.

  Only when the discussion turned to elysium did the laughter fail. They bowed their heads, scratched their beards and jiggled their knees. Maggie told them what Mr. Mustby had said about Srebrenka. It wasn’t until she was halfway through her tale that she realized she was speaking of him as though Mr. Mustby had stood right in front of her, not as a figure in her dream. Although now, what was dream and what was not wasn’t nearly as clear as it had been, and in either case she no longer doubted he’d told her the truth.

  “Srebrenka, is it?” Emel snorted. “Oh, she’s a piece of work, that one.” He stared into his cup of coffee. “We heard she was fiddling with things, experimenting. She always did want more than her fair share of everything, even as a child.”

  Maggie said, “You’ve known her since she was a child? Is she from here?”

  “No,” said Guivi. “Not from here, but near enough. Most people here know each other one way or another. This world is not quite as large, I suspect, as yours. She was always a greedy child and she has grown into a greedy woman. She had the gifts, that’s true enough, but didn’t want to wait for the wisdom age brings before she used them. She called up creatures we don’t speak of, thinking they’d be her servants, but they’ve made ill use of her. She’s caused great harm and has harmed herself.”

  Maggie told them how Srebrenka’s distorting mirror made everything lovely look horrible, and vice versa; about the shards sailing on the wind that blows between worlds, infecting people, and drawing them to her in their pain and misery, using elysium to quicken the process. She told them how her world was changing because of elysium and tried to explain how the Forest was expanding. “I’m afraid it will swallow everything and everyone, that we’ll all end up attached to the pipe.”

  The people of the lakeside now looked very glum indeed.

  “I’m sorry to bring you such an awful tale,” said Maggie.

  “It comes as less of a surprise than you might think,” said Aunt Ravna. “Although to you the mountain looks shrouded in mists, you’d be surprised what we see from up here. We knew about the mirror. We didn’t know about elysium. She’s an impatient one, isn’t she?” She rubbed her palms together as though suddenly chilled. “There were millions of shards floating in your world, and many people infected, long before she created this elysium, as you call it. The shards are like magnets, seeking to regroup and rebind. Many of those afflicted come through one of the various doors between worlds, but none, until now, have survived for long. They’re in a terrible state when they arrive and it’s a long cold journey. The bits of mirror work themselves out, it seems, of their own accord when the host dies, and fly on the wind back to Srebrenka. We’ve seen some of the bodies. We’ve been told of others. These are not good things to see. Your brother has fared well, considering. I can’t help but think she’s taken quite a fancy to him. What do you say, Emel?” She looked at Maggie. “Emel here is nearly older than the mountain and that’s a wee bit older even than me.”

  “Hey now,” said Emel. “I’m at my prime, I am.” And that gave them cause to giggle again.

  “Fair enough, my spring chicken,” smiled Aunt Ravna. “But you’re the one keeps track of the goings-on here, of the way things work. We each have our gifts. Having heard our Maggie’s tale, do you agree on my plan?”

  The man considered the fire for some moments. He relit his pipe and puffed thoughtfully. “I would like to say I can think of another way, for it’s a hard journey and what you’ll find at the end will be, I fear, harder still. I’d like to say you should stay here with us in the mountain and we could teach you how to be happy, because it’s the best thing we have. But you’ve been called just as your brother was, although my feeling is you’re called by something far greater than Srebrenka.” He reached over and squeezed Maggie’s hand. “What Srebrenka’s done, and is doing, is entirely wrong, and the expansion of the Forest won’t stop at our borders. Her hunger will engulf us all if you don’t stop her.”

  Maggie hadn’t considered this. The responsibility was a great stone around her neck. She thought of the little kitchen at the Grimoire. Her blue mug, her kettle, a fire roaring, books to read … her own bed … Alvin. And nothing but icy waste before her. Mr. Mustby. The ravens. She sighed. It didn’t matter. She was a cog in this great wheel. “I don’t know whether I’ll succeed, but I believe this is meant to be. I’ll see it through, whatever that means.”

  The people raised their glasses and tankards and cups. “Well said,” they murmured. “Hear, hear!”

  “Right,” said Aunt Ravna. “Here’s my plan. You’ll take the carriage and the caribou, whose name is Usko. He’s a good animal and will bring you safely to my cousin Perchta. Many of Usko’s relatives live with Perchta and he’ll be glad of an excuse to visit. Perchta’s a very wise woman, and because she lives so much farther north than we do, she’ll be able to advise you more than we can.”

  “I’m grateful, Aunt Ravna. To all of you.”

  “There’s no need to be rushing off. I know this all feels like a most urgent business, and of course it is, but you’ve been through a difficult time and I think one more good night’s sleep would help you both, and another good meal before you go.”

  As much as Maggie was impatient to be going, she knew Aunt Ravna was right, and so she stayed another night.

  * * *

  MAGGIE DREAMS …

  She is spinning dirty, tangled flax and must fill a bottomless barrel with water. Kyle must chop down a tree with a dull axe. A water nixie has taken them prisoner, and all she gives them to eat are dumplings as hard as rock. Kyle’s hands are bleeding. Hers are as well, from the nettles mixed in with the flax and from carrying the bucket, with its barbed handle.

  Maggie and Kyle are crying in great sobs, but they keep on working because if they stop they will be given even harder tasks to do and be beaten until their bones break. And then, all of a sudden, Maggie senses the water nixie has gone off somewhere.

  She grabs Kyle’s hand and screams for him to run, run, run … and they begin to run through the clearing around the water nixie’s riverside hut to the forest. It isn’t long before Maggie turns and sees Srebrenka, in the water nixie’s dress of green reeds, following them with long strides, barely touching the ground. Maggie takes a brush out of the pocket of her apron and throws it behind her. The brush turns into a mountain, with thousands and thousands of spikes. Srebrenka lets out a great cry and scrambles over it, cursing as she does, and her hands are cut, but finally she gets to the other side and her strides grow even longer.

  “Faster!” screams Maggie to Kyle and she throws a comb behind her and the comb turns into another mountain with a thousand times a thousand teeth, but Srebrenka is able to keep hold of them, and finally get to the other side.

  “She’s going to catch us!” yells Kyle.

  And Maggie throws a mirror behind her, which stands on its edge and becomes bigger than any mountain, and Srebrenka, shrieking with rage and horror, is stopped by her own reflection. She begins to pound her fists against the mirror, again and again, with heavier and heavier blows and then in a great shattering the mirror explodes, and shards begin to rain from the sky on Maggie and Kyle.

  * * *

  THE WOMAN SITS IN A LEAFLESS TREE BY
THE RIVER AND her gown drips into the water so there is no telling where the water ends and her dress begins. Kyle sits on the bank with his feet dangling in the cold water.

  “Would you like to see your sister?” the woman asks.

  “Oh, I don’t care,” says Kyle.

  “I think it might be good for you. Look across the river. Can you see her?”

  Reluctantly, Kyle drags his gaze from the woman’s white skin, and the dress that clings to it. Light sparkles through the winter-bare trees. Maggie sits on a rock, chained to a spinning wheel. She is crying, and her hands are bleeding. Drops of blood mix with the flax and ruin it, so she must always start over. Kyle laughs.

  Maggie turns to him and calls out. “Help me, brother! Help me! The woman you love is not what she seems. She will kill us both.”

  Kyle laughs harder and points at his sister in her bloody dress. “What an idiot,” he says, “she’s got more nettles than flax.”

  Maggie cries out from the pain. There is something in that cry, like a pinprick of something sharp in his chest and he stops laughing.

  “Make her go away,” he says to the woman, who is no longer in the tree, but there beside him, her lips to his ear.

  “Make her come over here and join us. It will be fun,” the woman says, her voice like crystal.

  “It’s not fun with her here. Make her go.” Kyle pouts and reaches for the woman, but she pulls back.