“I … yes, I was.” He held up both of his hands. “But I had a good reason,” he said. “Styx told me something … and I thought I’d better check it out.”
Portia tapped her bony fingers against her biceps. “And what did your son tell you that had you stirring up the hornet’s nest around Burning Peak?” She demanded.
“Said that he’d overheard a conversation at the Moon. Some elves were speaking about a renegade rock grumlin. Said that this rock cutter was trading in illegal black diamonds and that he done told one of his traders of a way into Burning Peak. An entrance that nobody knows about. So I thought I’d better see if it was true … you know? I know we’re waiting on the grumlins to stifle the flow of the waterfall, but I also know we’re running out of time before the Elder Code is rightfully … uh … Born.”
“Is this true?” Portia said, stepping toward the farmer. “Did you find this hidden entrance?”
“Nope,” Dilwyn replied. “I scoured the place. Even dived beneath the falls themselves, but couldn’t see no tunnel.”
The Witch Fearwyn sniffed. “So your boy was lying?”
“My boy might be many things,” Dilwyn said. “But he ain’t no liar. Neither of my boys is.”
“Mr. Werelamb,” Portia said. “With respect, but your other son, Lye, isn’t it? Isn’t he serving time in Steeltrap Penitentiary right now?”
“He is, yep. But he’s there because he didn’t lie, ma’am.”
My heart went out to the man. Dilwyn Werelamb, single father to the two delinquent teens, Lye and Styx Werelamb, Dilwyn also kept a menagerie of mythical livestock on his plot on the west of Glessie. An honest, hardworking man, who tried his best to raise his twins right, but who had struggled financially and spiritually after losing his wife when the twins were just babies.
I adored Dilwyn. He had helped us communicate with the rock grumlins so we could determine a passageway into Burning Peak. Dilwyn was also the only person we knew who could speak ‘grumlin,’ using the rock creature’s peculiar hand-signals. The kindly farmer had also helped me with Midnight when my night-stalking cat had come down with a case of daytime insomnia. The man was all heart, and I had appreciated him enough to conjure a certain ‘wealth’ charm that would enhance his meager existence. Lo and behold, not one month after I had cast Werelamb with that spell from the shaft of my applewood wand, Dilwyn, out of the blue, inherited a rather tidy sum of money from a long forgotten relative. It was this windfall that had permitted the farmer to realize his lifelong dream. Dilwyn Werelamb wanted to build a Merman Pool on his land. Not the typical mythical-creature-styled enclosure you’d find at magical zoos, though. No, Dilwyn had much bigger plans for his Merman Oasis, and the farmer’s work on the project was already well underway, in fact. The last I’d heard, Dilwyn had applied to Talisman for a license for a grandiose fountain that he wanted featured in the middle of the pool.
“Mr. Werelamb, your son’s criminal record aside, please tell us what Styx found so compelling about this conversation. Why did he believe the elves?”
“Because he saw them pass a few small black diamond chips among themselves,” Dilwyn said.
“So?” Portia snapped. “They could have been the tourist diamonds that you can get in any shop in Chalice.”
Dilwyn gave the Witch Fearwyn a serious look. “They weren’t though, ma’am,” he said. “My son knows the black market and the gems that are floated on them. Black diamonds don’t come up often, being that Governor Shields has such stringent control over them. Anyway, as I said, Styx ain’t no liar, and he knows what a valuable rock looks like.”
“Okay,” I said, keeping my voice light. “So did Styx hear who was trading with the grumlin? Any names? Any descriptions?”
Werelamb shook his head. “Sorry, Hattie.He didn’t hear any names dropped, I’m afraid.” Dilwyn’s eyes brightened for a second. “But he did say that the elves inferred that it was a ‘regular’ customer that was doing most of the trading.”
“Anything else?” Portia said. Goddess, I wish she could show a little more gratitude and patience toward this gentle man.
“That’s all I’ve got on that front, ma’am. I went to Cathedral to see if I could verify the intel … you know, before I came running to you guys.”
“And did you converse with one of the creatures?” Portia demanded.
Dilwyn pulled his head back and blinked at the old witch. “Easy there, lady, I’m getting to that now. Man’s gotta take a breath is all. And I think I’d like it more if you didn’t refer to the grumlins as creatures, if it’s all the same to you?”
I squeezed the farmer’s arm. “Dilwyn, thank you … you’ve already been a great help. Portia didn’t mean to offend. Please, go on.”
Dilwyn chuckled and shook his head. “Okay, so I did speak to a little rock fellow there,” he said. “He’s pretty high up in the grumlin’s hierarchy too, so I’d imagine he knows what he’s talking about.” Werelamb scratched his chin.
“Well?” Portia snapped. “What did he talk about?” Goddess, the Witch Fearwyn was on edge. I mean, I knew she could be a little spiky at times, but right now she was being downright rude.
Dilwyn looked at me when he next spoke. “So, Tromm -- that’s his name -- said he'd heard nothing about a secret passageway into the Peak. Doesn’t believe there is one, in fact. And I’ve gotta say, I believe him too. Tromm’s got a lot of manpower down in them there tunnels. His men -- if we can call them that for this purpose -- know the chambers of Burning Peak like the back of their hand.”
“So you don’t think there’s an entrance then?” I asked.
Werelamb shrugged. “Seems unlikely.”
“Rumors and subterfuge,” Portia said. “This renegade grumlin is just stirring up some mischief among his kind. Maybe he was kicked out of his tribe and is trying to create trouble.”
Dilwyn nodded but kept his gaze on me. “That’s what I reckon. Just some mischief to send wannabe crooks -- who want Black Diamond bad enough -- to crawl over the rock- cutters lands. Our little friends hate intrusions like this, so it would be a great vengeance move if you wanted to really upset them.”
“Okay, so still no way into the falls other than through the cascade itself,” I said, scratching my chin. “Not until the grumlins stymie the flow, that is.”
“Uh, yeah, about that flow,” Dilwyn said, looking out at the horizon. “Little critters say it’s gonna be another two weeks at least before they can lower the water pressure.”
Portia took a sharp intake of breath. “Not acceptable,” she snapped on her outbreath.
“Lady, I don’t have the power to make the waterfall do anythin’ other than what it does already. I’m just relaying the message is all.”
The Witch Fearwyn folded her arms and focused on a distant spot on the horizon.
I sighed. “Dilwyn, like I said … you’ve been a great help. But, please, please don’t put yourself in a dangerous position like that again, okay? If Shields’ cronies would have caught you ... well …” I trailed off.
Dilwyn chuckled again. “Sounds fair to me, now, if you’ll beg my pardon, I’m gonna take my chariot home and try to lift the curse that Shields’ posse zapped it with.” He looked at his still-hexed and violently shuddering broom as it thrashed in the sand.
“I hear you’re applying for a water feature for your Merman Pool?” I said. I didn’t want him to leave on such a sour note, and I knew the project was a big deal to Dilwyn. He laughed. “Yeah, if the suits can cut through all that red-tape then I may have a fountain before the next Perseid meteor shower.”
“Tough crowd, huh?” I sympathized. The bureaucracy of our administrative capital was exhausting, to say the least. A person’s every move, action or intention needed a permit of some kind, it seemed.
“They are at that,” Werelamb confessed. “But I’ve followed the building code for the pool to a tee, so I’m hoping that’ll get some attention, at least.” The farmer smiled. “It’s nearly finish
ed, Hattie. You should come on out and see it. I’ve just harvested all the Sorcery Apples, so there’s some pretty decent cider up for grabs too,” he said.
“I’d love nothing more,” I said. “Are you going to have enough water in your well to fill your pool?” I joked.
Werelamb smiled. “Not using well water … I’m filling it from the saltwater stream at the back of my land there,” he explained.
I nodded. “What are you thinking for the water feature? Some mythical sea monster?”
The farmer erupted into warm, resonant laughter. “Ah, you know me so well, Hattie,” he said shaking his head. “Although I’m sure it’ll be something along them lines, I haven’t really given it that much thought yet. But I want it to be … I dunno … impressive, somehow.” He laughed again. “Anyway, I hope you and your furry crew can make it out sometime.”
“We’ll be sure to drop by soon, you can bet on it. Can’t wait until it’s finished, and you have your ‘impressive’ water feature in.”
Jet rubbed his cheeks against Dilwyn’s legs. “Yep, yep, yep.”
Werelamb lunged for his thrashing broom and wrestled with it for a full minute before he could get it into position. Which left the man in a much more vulnerable stance; a male and his delicate ‘bits’ straddling a very lively and supremely solid stick is not, in my opinion, an enviable bearing. Somehow the farmer managed to lift off, however. Portia and I watched him as he careened and floundered until we lost him in a veil of cloud cover.
The Witch Fearwyn looked at me. “We will need to speak of events this evening, of course,” she said, already mounting and pointing her broom in the direction of the Gorthland Swamps.
“Absolutely,” I said, ushering my kitties onto my own steed. “I’m sure Hinrika and Verdantia will have something to say about their visit to Mag Mell and Ankou.”
“We can but hope,” Portia said. “And maybe that foo … I mean, fellow, of yours, will have some additional data regarding young Nugget’s death too.” She paused, and then glanced at me. “Until then.” She pushed off with one foot and looked over her shoulder at Jet. “You did well today, fidgety-fudge.” Portia flew upward, and Jet purred so loud and forceful that his head turned into a wobbling, vibrating ball. Unbearably cute.
I pushed off and pointed my broom-head toward Gless Inlet and the Angel. To be honest, I was grateful to be going home. Hopefully, it meant just a few hours of downtime and peace and distraction from all this madness going on.
Hope’s a funny thing …
CHAPTER 8
I landed the broom at the back of the Angel as I usually do. The cats hopped off, and Jet led the way through the backdoor into the apothecary’s kitchen. We had all kinds of security wards attached to the back entrance, but my kitties were more than familiar with their workings. It had been Grandma Chimera who had enchanted the door in the first place, and, as my cats were immortal and had spent decades with dear Chimera, they knew how to pick a lock.
I’d just pushed the door shut behind me when I heard Jet screech: “FIRE!”
The sound of claws on bare floorboards scraped against my ears, as three cats stampeded in excitable confusion around the floor of the Angel. Running to the front of the shop, I was just in time to see Jet leap from the floor to the counter in a blur of black motion, snatch the water-spray bottle, tuck his head, and roly-poly back to the ground. He landed in a perfect configuration for an all-out strike: resting on his two back feet, his two front paws before him, wielding the spray bottle whose nozzle pointed directly at Millie. I could see why Jet may have wanted to douse my assistant. Her hair had apparently caught fire while we were gone. There was a moment’s hesitation on both Millie’s and Jet’s part. But Jet’s nerve, emboldened by the sight of Millie Midge’s hair of living flame, won the race, and my kitty pulled the trigger. And with much enthusiasm, I might add.
Millie did her best to defend herself; I mean if you can call fluttering a pair of perfectly manicured hands before your face defense.
Jet lept forward, and brandishing the bottle with an outstretched paw, my zippy cat got positively trigger-happy and gave my assistant a thorough soaking.
Just as Millie’s do began to drip with fat water droplets, I realized her hair wasn’t on fire after all. “Jet, enough now, buddy. It’s out. The fire’s out.” I took a tentative step toward him, being careful not to spook him while he was all crazy-vibrations and madness. “Buddy, enough now.” My voice was gentle, and I rubbed Jet’s back with a soft touch. Finally, my catnip addled cat’s body relaxed a little. His eyes filled with the golden light of his iris’.
I gave my assistant an apologetic smile and nodded to her glorious mane. “Violet’s work, I take it?”
“It was.”
“The left side’s still dry,” I commented, hopefully helpfully. Looking down at the furry perp in the room, I said: “Jet, go get Millie a towel.”
“Yep, yep, yep, yep.” He was just happy to be outta there.
My assistant wiped water from her face. “It was supposed to be like fire,” she said. “It’s a new color-blend that Violet got in last week. Dancing Flame, it’s called.”
I nodded. “Well, it’s pretty convincing. You had Jet fooled, anyway, so kudos to Violet for this work of art.” I moved toward my friend and flicked a long strand of her mane toward the light. Auburns, oranges, blues, violets, and even shimmering pinks; all dazzled under the arc of the shop’s lamps. “It’s beautiful, Millie,” I breathed. I’ll admit, I was impressed. This was definitely Violet’s finest work to date. “So much color movement. It really looks … well, alive.”
My assistant warmed a little; she smiled and shook her one dry patch of hair. Just like leaping flames. “Hence the name: Dancing Flame,” she offered.
Jet padded in with a small towel in his mouth. He dropped it in front of Millie and looked at her with a pair of remorseful eyes. But Millie still wasn’t entirely over it.
“Not cool. Not one bit,” she said, wringing out her hair with Jet’s proffered towel. A droplet of water rolled from my assistant’s bangs into her eye. She squinted and breathed out a heavy sigh.
“Aww, Millie, nope, nope, not cool,” Jet babbled. My fast-kitty took a gingerly step toward her. “I … nope, I didn’t mean to do that. I just thought, yep, it was a real fire, you know, yep?”
Gloom, who had been watching the proceedings from the floor, tapped Millie’s shin. “He’s lying,” she said, her tone flat. “He wanted to repay you for all the mistings you’ve given him over the years.”
“Ugh,” Millie groaned. She flipped her hair upside down and gave it a vigorous rub with the hand towel. “I spent a fortune for this do, Jetpack,” she said, staring at Jet from her upside down position.
My lip was sore from biting down on a welling laughter. I felt terrible for Millie, of course, but the comedic relief of Jet’s antics made me feel lighter somehow. Goddess knew I could do with a little lightness in my life right now. I’m sure Millie’s light-refracting hair would have been a great provider of this lightness, had Jet not doused my assistant’s ‘flame.’
My eyes flew to an open book near the register. It looked ancient, and I could smell the musty pages from where I stood. Unable to resist an old tome, I traced a finger over the open page. The text sprawled across the leaf in a series of archaic symbols; faded vermillion on yellowed parchment. “Futhark?” I said spinning toward Millie.
“Good eye,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder, and in one deft move, pushing it through a hair elastic. Millie moved toward the volume.
“What is it, and why do you have it?” I quizzed.
“I’m helping Reverend Peacefield and Gabby.”
“Well, I guess, in the grander scheme of things, I’m helping you and the Custodians.”
“Wait, what?” I furrowed my eyebrows.
“Yeah, Gabby spoke to Thaddeus this morning and came here straight after. She enlisted me for the translation side of things.”
I shook my head. “Sorry, Millie, I’m lost.”
My friend sighed. “Peacefield had been trying to reach you, yes? Gabby said she had stepped in for you and had promised to speak to the vicar herself. Well, she did just that, and now, in the interest of saving the Coven Isles from the Warlock Chief and his fire-breathing pet, I’m helping Thaddeus and Gabrielle with some research.” She raised an eyebrow at me in question; asking me if I was ‘getting it.’ “Dragon research, in short. Make sense now?” Millie didn’t wait for my answer; she just leaned over the Avalon book to inspect the text again.
“Wow,” I said. “You guys are all kinds of amazing. But what kind of dragon research?”
Gloom and Onyx hopped onto the counter, poking their faces in between Millie and me.
Jet maintained his awkward pacing on the floor.
“Well, all kinds, really,” Millie said. “But, I guess, specifically, we’re looking for information or histories on how one might … uh … disable a dragon.”
Good idea.
“Good idea,” I said. “Thaddeus’ plan?”
“Yep. He’s got a ton of material to get through, so he needed backup. Artemus will pitch in once he’s done trying to figure out the body armor for the cats. He got held up for a bit as he was examining the diamond weapon for the ch … your man, I mean. So right now it’s just me, Gabby and Peacefield trawling through this heavy material.”
“You said ‘disable,’” I said. “Sounds very humane.”
A lock -- or should I say, lick -- of hair fell onto Millie’s face, illuminating her already glowing skin. “Uh, yeah, I know,” she said. “But that was the word Thaddeus used. Personally, I’d have liked it more if he had used the word slay, but you know the vicar. He didn’t inherit his surname in vain, that’s for sure.”
I smiled at Millie’s wisecrack. Thaddeus Peacefield possessed an inspirational level of placid nonviolent ideals. And apparently, the vicar afforded this pacifistic trait to both man and beast alike.
I turned my attention back to the book. “This is some pretty ancient stuff,” I said, tracing my finger along the leather margins of the tome.
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