“Is ‘Scary Villa’ the house’s real name?” Aiby asked.
“Nah,” Doug said. “It’s just the nickname the villagers gave it when the creepy McBlack family moved in. It’s original name was Carolina Villa, or something.”
“Either way, we need to be careful,” I added. “People say a lot of stupid, unbelievable things about this house, but one thing is true.” Aiby tried to interrupt me, but I gestured for her to wait. “I’ve been here once before, after I took over Jules’s mail route . . .”
I pointed at the mailbox, which for some reason was located on the other side of the closed gate. No one could reach it from the outside, including mailmen.
“Jules told me he just stops at the gate, slips any mail he has for the McBlacks through the bars, then leaves,” I said. I pointed at a small, metal chain hanging down from the gate. “You see that small chain there?”
They nodded.
“Well, the chain opens the gate just enough to reach the mailbox. But you have to be fast, because as soon as you touch the chain, Cromwell comes running.”
Patches’s hair stood on end when heard the big black dog’s name. “I can’t tell you exactly what kind of dog Cromwell is, but he’s huge. He has creepy yellow eyes and his barks are so sharp and loud that they’ll make your blood run cold.”
Doug didn’t look impressed. “If you’re fast enough to deliver the mail,” I said, “then you can get back to the other side of the gate before Cromwell gets you.”
Doug snorted. “Oooh, that sounds so scary!” he said. “So where’s this demonic dog, anyway? He’s not out in the yard, so what’s the big problem?”
“You won’t see him until you pull the chain,” I said. “But rest assured, once you do, Cromwell will come running.”
“Well let’s summon this Cromwell, then!” Doug said, approaching the chain. Patches barked.
“Doug, are you crazy?” I cried. “We can’t just do that!”
“Then what’s the plan,” Doug said flatly.
“The plan is simple,” I said. “We enter secretly, recover the Sherwood Compass, and escape before the McBlacks even notice we’re here.”
“So we’re going to steal something,” Doug said.
“Not really,” Aiby said. “In The Big Book of Magical Objects, the notes for the Sherwood Compass state that the McBlacks never paid for it. And payment on purchase is one of the three basic rules of the shop.”
Doug smirked. “So we’re more like repo men than thieves?” Doug said. “I’m cool with that. But why do we want this compass, anyway?”
“Because it is the only magical object in existence that can help us locate a Green Man,” I said.
Doug raised an eyebrow at me. “You mean, the thing you said you saw at the end of the lawn at our house?” he said. “You think he made all the sheep disappear?”
I nodded.
Doug shifted his weight to one leg. “So is this Green Man dangerous?” he asked.
I shrugged and glanced at Aiby. I hadn’t really considered if this Green Man was a threat to us. Now I was even more worried about what we were getting ourselves into.
“We have to find out who he is, why he came to Applecross, and what he wants,” Aiby said. “It’s the only way to fix Applecross’s problems. But in order to find the Sherwood Compass . . .” Aiby pointed at the brick wall, then shrugged.
We began to walk along the gate, studying the wall in search of the best place to climb. “Do you have a magical bone that makes dogs fall sleep?” I asked Aiby.
“Nope,” Aiby said. “But don’t worry, I have something in mind that will help us deal with Cromwell.”
“Really?” I said. “Mind sharing?”
Aiby just kept walking. I guess now’s not the time for that question, either, I thought. Insects buzzed around us until a gentle breeze from the sea blew by. Some of the leaves on the nearby trees fell to the ground.
I wondered when exactly the sleepy Scottish countryside had transformed into a twisted amusement park where my life was constantly at risk. It seemed so strange that a touch of magic could change everything.
“There,” Aiby said, pointing at a part of the wall that was a bit lower than the rest.
I looked around. Behind us, the land was flat. The nearest tree was about twenty feet from the wall, which was too far away to use to climb over the barrier.
Aiby dropped her bag on the ground and rifled through it. I didn’t know what her plan was, but she seemed completely confident in it. Then again, while her self-confidence was her greatest virtue, it was also her greatest weakness. She always acted like she knew exactly what she was doing — even when she didn’t.
I approached her and peeked over her shoulder. The bag was completely empty inside, yet she continued to rummage through it. “Hey, Aiby,” I said. “Sorry to interrupt, but could you possibly tell us what the heck we’re going to do?”
She winked at me. “I’m looking for what we need,” she said, then continued digging.
“Of course,’’ I muttered. “Can you at least tell me why you’re rummaging through an empty bag?”
Aiby snorted. “It’s far from empty, Finley,” she said. “This is a Bag of Darkness. It’s super useful if you have to store a lot of things, especially when you don’t know what you’ll need on an adventure. It’s a lot like the pockets in that pair of pants you loved too much to let go of.” She giggled.
I snorted. “Very funny, Aiby.”
“Ah, here it is!” Aiby said. She pulled out a leather case, opened it, and pulled out a piece of white chalk. Then she began to rummage through the bag again. A moment later, she produced a long, golden flute.
“Chalk and a flute? That’s our plan?” Doug said, massaging his temples. “I am so confused right now.”
“Doug, you told me the other day that you have a passion for music,” Aiby said.
I chuckled. As far as I knew, the only music my brother liked was the sound of his own name being cheered by a chorus of fans at the rugby field.
Doug looked at the flute. “Of course, Aiby, but —”
“I’ll explain, don’t worry,” she said, handing him the flute.
Aiby faced the brick wall. She drew a vertical line with the chalk. Then she drew a second, parallel line about three feet away from the first. Finally, she joined the two lines at the top with a third line. Once the rectangle of a door was drawn, Aiby drew a small knob.
Aiby took a step back and pressed lightly on the wall. The chalk-drawn portion of the wall opened toward us like a door! Doug and I were speechless, but Patches wasn’t afraid. He gave out a brave little bark and casually trotted through the opening.
Aiby glanced at Doug. “This is the Golden Flute of Hamelin. Have you heard of the tale of the Pied Piper? He began to play his flute, and anyone he thought of was helplessly compelled to follow him. So, after Finley and I go through, you can go wherever you want on this side of the wall — just make sure you do three things: keep thinking of Cromwell, keep moving, and keep playing the flute.”
Doug frowned. “How long should I keep doing that?”
A wild howl came from the McBlack yard, followed by a tiny but furious bark. Aiby pushed me through the opening. “Hurry up, Doug!” she said. “Start playing!”
That’s when we saw Cromwell running toward us in a black blur. For a second, it looked like Doug was going to run, but he managed to compose himself and lifted the flute to his mouth. Aiby crouched on her knees, grabbed Patches by the scruff of his neck, and moved away from the door. Patches kept running in the air as Aiby held him.
Just then, a black mountain of hair leaped right past us and through the door with terrifying speed — right at Doug.
I heard a faint series of off-key notes being played on the other side of the wall as Aiby jumped to her feat. “Now!” she cried.
In a flash, Aiby pressed the other side of the magic door and closed it behind us, leaving that infernal beast on the other side of the wall . . . with my brother.
“Doug!” I cried, slamming my fists against the wall. I turned to glare at Aiby. “What have we done to him?!”
“Don’t worry!” Aiby said. “The melody of that flute has the power to soothe even the fiercest beast. Cromwell will follow Doug wherever he goes. As long as your brother keeps playing and walking, he’ll be just fine.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, although a tiny part of me was snickering on the inside. “I hope he doesn’t faint or something,” I said.
“Your brother will handle it just fine,” she said. “Just listen: the barking has already stopped.”
It was true. There was no sign of that demonic dog’s blood-curdling howls.
Patches, on the other hand, was snarling at the magical door. I reached down to pet him. “It’s okay, boy. I know you could’ve taken him.” Patches gave out a little bark, then raised his hind leg against the wall and relieved himself.
Aiby squinted. “Dogs are weird.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Anyway, let’s go.”
As soon as I turned around, I realized we weren’t alone. A crowd of people were standing in the garden — and they were staring right at us.
I couldn’t move. I just kept staring wide-eyed at those motionless figures in the garden. They stood there, watching us, posed in impossible positions. It took me a long while to realize they were just statues.
I’d heard that Barragh McBlack had a collection of strange statues, but I hadn’t expected them to be so . . . creepy. There were men with octopus heads, ducks with wheels for legs, and giant shrimp with glowing gemstones for eyes. Sure, they were bizarre and terrifying, but I had to admit they were pretty interesting, too.
Aiby and I exchanged glances, then headed toward the house. As we neared Scary Villa, we reached the first of those monstrous statues.
“It’s made of porcelain,” Aiby said. She passed her hand over a statue of a bug-eyed child wearing a shiny coat made of purple leather. “Creepy.”
“Agreed,” I said. The statues looked like they could come alive at any moment. “And very lifelike,” I added, nearly unable to pull my eyes away.
We kept moving. Whenever we heard a noise, we stopped and ducked. For some reason, there was a golf hole with flag number 17 sticking out of it.
“Can I ask you something, Aiby?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“You know where the compass is, right?”
“More or less, yes,” she said. “You read the entry in the BBMO too, right?”
“Err, yes, I sure did,” I said. “I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.”
Aiby frowned at me. “Sherwood’s Compass is more like a weather vane,” she said.
I nodded. That much I knew from looking at the drawing. “So where will we look for it?”
“Well, they don’t keep it inside the house, as you read.”
“Of course,” I said.
“So it should be somewhere out here, or in the barn,” Aiby said.
We divided the garden between us and searched for it for about ten minutes. Neither of us found anything related to Sherwood’s Compass.
We walked toward the house and peered inside a window. It looked like no one was home. We examined the three front dormer windows, but saw nothing.
Aiby pointed at the barn. With great caution, we drew closer to a window on the barn’s northern side. On top of the barn was a tall, wooden tower with a tin-plated roof. As we peered inside the window, we saw that part of the barn was being used as a pottery workshop. I saw the gaping mouth of a kiln, little dishes and pieces of statues on a small table, china pots, lumps of moist clay, molds of various shapes, and designs and drawings on the walls.
“Welcome to pack rat heaven,” I whispered. “If the compass is inside there, we’ll never find it.”
“I don’t think it is,” Aiby said.
“Why is that?” I asked.
“Because of the oven,” she said. “The intense heat would destroy the compass.”
I smiled to hide my confusion. Maybe I should have tried harder to learn to read the Enchanted Language . . . or, you know, just admit to Aiby that I hadn’t.
Heading toward the barn, we reached the side that had been converted into a garage. It had no windows, so we risked pulling open the door to take a peek inside. I saw a long, black car that looked like a hearse. Next to it were tire marks from a second car. “At least we know that Barragh McBlack isn’t home,” I said.
We entered the garage. I locked the latch on the inside and started looking around. “Could it be in here?” I asked.
Aiby didn’t answer me. She was examining a small puddle of fuel that was dripping from a tank on a shelf. I took a closer look at the car. It only had two seats in front, and the rear of the vehicle was equipped with sliding contraptions and covered by a sheet. Strangely, the car was full of dirt.
Patches growled. I turned to see he’d found one of those weird statues right behind the car still partially packed. It looked like a chubby girl with a pair of tentacles instead of legs. She had big, open eyes, long eyelashes, and a mole on her left cheek. She was wearing a blue dress and holding a beetle in her hand.
“So weird,” I muttered. There was a sort of sad, hopeless melancholy to the statues of Scary Villa. It looked like they wanted to be left alone, which for some reason made them seem even more frightening.
In our search, we found a hedge trimmer, a farm tractor’s engine, two headboards made of iron, about twenty doors and windows stacked against the walls, and several pieces of unrecognizable machinery.
But no sign of a weather vane.
We ventured deeper into the garage, making our way through endless cobwebs and clouds of dust that proved no one had been that far back in the garage in ages. At the opposite side of the barn, we found a wooden ladder built into the wall.
“Do you think the compass is up there?” I asked.
Aiby pointed at a hatch in the ceiling. A weird piece of metal was attached to the handle that looked like a cross between a fancy piece of decorative metalwork and a complex lock. “That’s where I’d keep something I wouldn’t want anyone to find,” she said.
“Hm,” I said. “That lock does look a little out of place in a dumpy garage like this.”
Aiby nodded. She tested the lower rungs of the ladder with her foot, then climbed up high enough to touch the lock. “It’s more complex than I imagined.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“If my father were here, he would know precisely who made this contraption, and why,” she said. “But I can’t identify it.” She placed her finger on one of the iron rivets and it moved, springing a gear. “However, it is definitely a magical lock of some kind.”
“Surprise, surprise,” I said, not at all surprised. “So now what?”
Aiby glanced down at me. “Now you have to find a way to open it.”
“Like a key?” I asked.
She chuckled. “I don’t think so. This lock is probably a Montecristo. If that’s the case, then a key would be useless.” She pointed to the various parts that made up the mechanism. “Each of these is like a letter. You just have to know where to move them and in what combination. Then it will open for you.”
“So . . . we need a password?” I asked.
“No,” she said with a smirk. “We need a keyword.”
“Ha, ha,” I said. “Try ‘bad luck.’”
“Very funny.” Aiby pushed the mechanisms. They moved like an iron snake, but didn’t open the lock.
“‘Open sesame?’” I said. “‘None shall pass?’”
“Can you please stop?” Aiby said. “You’re making me nervous.”
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br /> “Sorry,” I said. I was also nervous. Sneaking around like a thief, hanging out with an octopus-girl in a blue dress, examining a hearse, and hoping your brother isn’t being eaten by a monstrous dog will do that to you.
Tick, tack! Tick, tack! went the noisy lock as Aiby manipulated it.
I went back to the entrance and peered through the cracks in the boards. Seen from this side, the ivy-covered walls of Scary Villa didn’t look so terrible. Compared to the room we were in now, it was a ray of sunshine. The shadow of the barn and its tower was projected onto the lawn in front of me.
Tick, tack! Tick, tack! Aiby worked the lock.
One by one, I examined the windows of the house. It didn’t just look empty — it seemed abandoned. How many family members did Barragh McBlack have? Was he married? Did he have any children? And how old was he? I realized I didn’t know anything about them — when they’d move to Applecross, how they’d come into possession of a magical object, or anything. Did they even know it was magical? Maybe Barragh knew more than he seemed to about the odd events in Applecross.
I thought again about old lady Cumai’s death and how I’d missed the opportunity to speak to her one last time. Before Aiby and her family had arrived, I‘d thought I’d known everything about Applecross. Now I realized I knew nothing. For example, there was a mill at Applecross, but when had there ever been wheat growing here to grind?
“Forget it!” Aiby cried from the opposite side of the garage. “Without the right keyword, it’ll never open.”
“Maybe we could ask Barragh when he returns home,” I said.
“He wouldn’t tell us,” she said. “Dad isn’t . . . friendly with him.”
“They know each other?” I asked.
“Their great-grandparents knew each other,” she said. “Way back when the McBlacks took the Compass without paying for it.”
I tapped my chin. “Have you tried ‘horror’ as the keyword?”
“Not funny,” Aiby said.
Compass of Dreams Page 7
