She returned to the scrutiny of her discovery. The image shimmered and wavered and tricked the eye as best as it was able, but she could not doubt that it really was an apple, suspended in the very centre of the knotted glass. The ornament exhausted its momentum and stopped swaying at last, and when it hung still the central image settled upon a dappled gold-and-green blur.
Hattie touched a finger to the glass, setting it swaying once more. The apple reappeared, flashing gold and then green…
‘Theo,’ said Hattie.
‘I believe it is some kind of image,’ said he in a vague tone.
‘Yes, Theo,’ said Hattie in some exasperation. ‘That is what I have been trying to tell you.’
‘Not that.’ Theodosius approached and looked over Hattie’s shoulder at the apple. ‘Intriguing though it is. No, look.’ He turned his sister about and directed her attention back to the floor. ‘See how the lines shift, but the colours, for the most part, do not? And the effect is not typical. We ought to see a rainbow of colour appear, but it is not that at all.’
Hattie looked, and saw what he meant. The colours spread across Theodosius’s floor were varied, but not the watery, wavery splashes of rainbow cast by the glass ornaments in the window of Amberdrake’s apothecary. Try as she might, though, she could discern no meaningful pattern, no matter which way Theodosius turned and twisted the glass about.
‘Besides that,’ added Theodosius, ‘The sun is not strong today, and the colours cast should not be nearly so bright.’ He stepped back from the window, his eyes going dreamy again. ‘Leave the pretty thing with me, Hat,’ he said, and she felt reluctantly obliged to agree.
‘Only I will come back,’ she warned him. ‘Tonight, to see how you get on. And to reclaim my clue, for it would be too bad of you to take over the investigation entirely.’
Theodosius agreed in his vague way, and with that Hattie was obliged to be content. She went on her way, her curious mind busy at the questions raised by the morning. That the trinket came out of Faerie, she had no doubt, and that it related in some way to the summer’s invasion of faerie fruit seemed likely as well. But in what way that might prove relevant, or how it might help anybody in Berrie North, were questions which remained impossible to answer.
Her shoes tried to take her home by way of Verity Wilkin’s shop, which was disobliging of them, for it was very much the long way around.
‘No!’ Hattie told them sternly. ‘I have more pairs of mad shoes than I can possibly use, as you must be aware, for they are your friends and daily companions. I will not buy any more!’
Her shoes protested, as did her secret heart, the part that wanted and lusted with little regard for sense or practicality. Hattie resolutely ignored both, and took herself home the short way.
Chapter Two
Theodosius Penderglass returned from a reverie of indeterminable length to find himself standing alone in his shop. Hattie had gone, leaving her odd little trinket hanging still in the window.
He cast an eye once more over the array of colours patterning his floor, and being no more enlightened as to their import than before, he took down the glass and put it into his pocket. That he and Hattie had hit upon the beginnings of an explanation he did not doubt, but how to proceed any further with unravelling its meaning he could not immediately imagine.
His attention was distracted by the arrival of Malachi Amberdrake, who swept into his shop in a great hurry.
‘Theo!’ he said without preamble. ‘That John Quartermane! I could pummel him. He talks of re-opening the Moss and Mist at once, without waiting any longer for Tobias.’
‘I know,’ said Theodosius.
But Malachi shook his head. ‘I mean at once, this evening! And he has a great deal of support across the town, for it is much missed.’
Theodosius pondered this. ‘Much as I regret Tobias’s continued absence,’ — and he did, for Tobias had always been rather his closest friend in Berrie — ‘and much as it will be strange, and no doubt disagreeable, to see somebody else in Tobias’s place at the Mist, perhaps it would be better for the town for it to open again. We must not be sentimental.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Malachi dubiously. ‘But what is to be done with Tobias’s things, against his return? I do not like to think of Quartermane helping himself to anything he fancies, and you know he might.’
Privately, Theodosius could only agree that a poorer candidate for the task of taking over the Mist could scarcely be imagined. Quartermane had none of Tobias’s steadiness or agreeableness, and it could not be doubted that his motives were in part avaricious. ‘Twas a pity that he had not been as cured of that by the faerie fruit as Clover Waregrove had been cured of miserliness.
Malachi’s particular concerns struck Theodosius forcibly enough. ‘You think, then, that he will go ahead with the plan?’
‘Undoubtedly, I should say. I came to beg your aid, for I cannot go there myself until later in the day. Witherspoon’s wife is ailing again, and I have yet to see Longstaff or Mrs. Winthrope or —’
Theodosius held up his hands. ‘My work will wait more readily than yours. I will go, and see what I can salvage for Tobias.’
It was not the first visit Theodosius had paid to the Moss and Mist since the disappearance of Southtown. Tobias had entrusted him with a key long ago, and Theodosius had made a habit of casting an eye over the place once every week.
More often than weekly, even, in the first month of Southtown’s absence. He and many others had bent all their efforts to discovering the fate of their lost streets and lost friends, and Theodosius was not the only person who felt that mysterious Tobias, traveller that he was, might have known something of use. But nothing of note had ever been uncovered there, nor anywhere else in Northtown, and life had at last settled into a state of uneasy peace.
There was, thought Theodosius, a sense of suspension and anticipation about the town; a feeling that Berrie collectively held its breath, waiting in full expectation that something would occur to reveal the fate of Southtown, and perhaps to bring it back. Theodosius felt it, both the suspense and the belief. But the waiting chafed him sorely, and poor Hattie felt it still more strongly than he in the absence of Jeremiah.
When he turned Tobias’s heavy bronze key in the lock of the Moss and Mist and went in, he did so with a strange sense that something was different today. He could not have said why. He only knew that his heart beat a little faster as he stepped into the silent common room, and he looked about with brightened eyes and a feeling of renewed hope.
Nothing emerged to justify these altered feelings. The inn was as it had been last week, and every week before it for three long months: empty, increasingly dust-ridden, and silent.
Theodosius subjected the common room to only minimal scrutiny before he passed through it, and ascended the stairs at the back up into Tobias’s private chambers. Only once had he ventured there before, in hope of a useful discovery. He disliked the necessity that forced such an intrusion, knowing full well that Tobias rarely invited anybody into his private quarters. Whether even Clarimond had seen this side of Tobias seemed in doubt.
The rooms were neatly kept, and sparse, for Tobias set little store by trinkets. Theodosius busied himself with packing Tobias’s clothing and other few possessions into bags, endeavouring to do so as quickly and respectfully as possible, and without glancing too closely at anything he touched unless it seemed to promise a clue of some kind.
Nothing did, and Theodosius soon had the rooms emptied of Tobias’s belongings. Besides his clothes, there was only a pipe, a pocket watch, an old history book, several handkerchiefs and a silver necklace.
It was only once he had returned downstairs that Theodosius remembered the strongbox.
It sat always behind the bar, an enormous, heavy construct made from solid oak richly carved. So familiar a fixture was it that Theodosius had almost forgotten it altogether.
He eyed it doubtfully. Considering its position in full view of the cu
stomers, was it likely that Tobias would keep anything of any particular import or value in there? Perhaps not, but if it was to pass into the ownership (however disputed) of John Quartermane then the possibility had to be considered. Perhaps the key to the door was also the means to open it.
But no trace of a keyhole could Theodosius find, nor did the lid open when he tested it. He stared at the strongbox in consternation, unwilling to trust to its safety without a thorough investigation.
The odd carvings caught his eye, overlooked in his search for a keyhole. He traced their outlines with the tip of a finger, discerning proud trees with branches intertwined and an abundant harvest cradled within their boughs. In between the trees, swirled etchings traced the path of a flowing river, and the sun and moon shone above them.
Theodosius’s fingers found an indentation in the centre, where the depth of the carvings dipped a little deeper than the rest. His fingertips traced a knotted pattern that felt familiar…
His pocket twitched. He would have sworn to it that the sensation was physical, not merely his imagination. He dipped in his hand and withdrew the only item he carried within: Hattie’s glass trinket.
The pattern was undoubtedly a match for the strongbox’s lid. He set the trinket into the indented knotwork, and the moment he did so the glass lit up with colour and a click indicated that a lock had released.
Theodosius swung open the lid, his heart pounding with anticipation. Inside, he found an odd assortment of things.
Resting on the top was an array of faerie fruit. The colours dazzled Theodosius’s eyes, the more so because these specimens remained as fresh and ripe as though they had been picked that morning. But they could not have been; the trees had long since returned to their barren state, and the fruits they had already borne had rotted away. Theodosius gazed long at the inexplicable fruits, and then carefully set them aside to investigate the objects beneath.
A pouch clinked when he picked it up, and a peek inside revealed a large quantity of coins. These he took to be Tobias’s property, and concealed them carefully within one of his bags.
Next to the pouch rested a single book, a thick journal bound in green leather and marked with a violet ribbon. This he opened with great care, for it appeared aged. Inside, many of the pages were written through in inks of varied colours, and the handwriting was not always the same.
Theodosius withdrew this, too, and packed it away. He hesitated over the fruits, but decided at last to leave them as they were, for he must suppose that the strongbox was responsible for their state of freshness, and they would only deteriorate if removed.
The strongbox itself was a mystery he could not easily solve, and its key besides. He did not think Hattie was wrong to conclude that the knotted glass trinket had come out of Faerie. Did that, then, mean that the strongbox did likewise? How came it to be at the Moss and Mist, if so? And how had Tobias come to lose the key in the dust beside the Wynspan, if he had vanished into Faerie with Southtown?
These questions weighed heavily upon Theodosius’s mind as he returned to his own establishment, but they were perfectly unanswerable — unless, of course, the contents of the journal could shed any light. He hurried his steps, eager to begin his perusal of the book. As soon as he had stored Tobias’s possessions safely, he sat down with a pot of fresh tea and began to read.
The first surprise was that the diary did not appear to be Tobias’s. Inside the front cover, the words Cornelius Dwerryhouse, Apothecary were written in green ink. Beneath that, the name Rosamund Dale, Botanist was inscribed in the same ink, but a different hand.
Turning the pages, Theodosius soon established that the contents of most of the book were written in those same two hands. Only towards the end did the handwriting change.
To his dismay, the book was not well preserved. Some of the ink had faded past the point of decipherability; in some places, whole paragraphs had vanished beyond recall.
13th F. wrote Cornelius. Called to a Miss Florabel Roseberry of Southtown by her father. Pallor, Weakness, Confusion — a Wasting sickness, but one never before Encountered by me. Fading of the Skin, hair and eyes. Prescribed Mugg’s Tonic and an Improving Diet.
There followed many pages of similar notes about patients with Colds, Bunions, Fevers, Agues, Rheumatism of the Hands, and a host of other common complaints. Nothing struck Theodosius’s interest so much as the entry about Miss Roseberry, and he read with mild impatience until he encountered another note about her.
3rd A. - Miss Roseberry much Weaker, and White as Marble. Nothing so Efficacious in her care as Apples, taken in Tea. I would not Believe so odd a Cure had I not seen the Effects myself. She will take Nothing else. A pity that Apples are scarcer than ever, and — The rest Theodosius could not make out, until the words Faerie sickness appeared, and then, incomprehensibly, starlight.
He read it again, mystified. Miss Florabel Roseberry, of Southtown, had contracted some kind of faerie sickness? How could that have come about?
28th A. - Roseberry came today, without his Daughter. Begged me to open my Supply, which I could not refuse, though I have scarce Three… the two lines following were too faded to read. Rosamund nurtures some at Thistledown and Sevenleaf and at the Mist, but Roseberry says they cannot Thrive.
30th A. - The new Tincture is Successful in its Seventh brewing. Miss Roseberry improving Daily. Roseberry the Elder … by request of… Greensleeves, but there can be no more Tincture without… dwindling Rapidly.
No further of Cornelius’s entries could Theodosius decipher, but Rosamund’s handwriting began to appear a few pages later. Her notes did not seem to be much related to Cornelius’s, and Theodosius read them in confusion. Why had they been included in the apothecary’s patient diary?
13th Ju. Melaeon grows well at Thistledown, Faster than would seem possible. But they are of Faerie, and full Magical, and Roseberry is not surprised. He Claims they will never bear Fruit now that Southtown has Crossed over, but I hope to prove him Wrong.
18th Ju. Borago Officinalis is a Common flower, but Never in such Hues as I have lately Seen. In Southtown their blossoms were Silver in all the years of my memory, but since the Crossing I have seen only Blue.
29th Ju. Cornelius and I… the ways of Faerie and… no Borago Officinalis of either Colour. Roseberry is right, for the melaeon are… beyond saving.
An entry followed in Cornelius’s writing. Not all of it was legible; what remained resembled some manner of recipe.
6 ul. melaeon infusion
2 ul. honey
13.5 ul. aqua pura faerie
Everything else was faded beyond legibility. Theodosius turned page after page in growing frustration, unable to make any sense of the mysterious fragments. At length he encountered a new section of the diary: written in fresh, clear ink, still green, its hue stronger and fully readable. Theodosius recognised Tobias’s hand.
6th S. - Retraced my great-grandfather’s steps through Faerie, as closely as I was able. All is much Changed since his travels there, for his descriptions do not Match my own observations. Few would speak to me. I am no wiser as to the meaning of melaeon, and I saw no Borago Officinalis of either Silver or Blue. Cornelius’s key attracted much Notice, however, and some made to Claim it from me, but I did not return Without it and I have it safe.
The Faerie sickness suffered by Miss Roseberry is nowhere in evidence, but the Land is Unwell. There is Damp everywhere, a dense Fog, and the light is Weak. Nothing thrives. The Rivers are sluggish and Colourless, all save One. It is said that they run in part through Mortal realms, and acquire the impure Taint of Iron.
None will speak to me of the Plight of Faerie. I fear they have lost Hope, and do not welcome the intrusion of a Mortal into their Sufferings.
Therein ended the book. Theodosius leafed carefully through every remaining page, but no further entries did he find, and at last he set the book aside with a sigh. How scintillating a diary, but how frustrating! It raised more questions than it answered.
Tobias had been into Faerie! He had never spoken of it. What had encouraged him to go, and how had he found a passable door? How had his great-grandfather come to be caught up in Faerie business, a hundred years before? What was the sickness that afflicted both Faerie and its people, and what the Tincture which eased their complaints? Was that what the recipe was for?
What was melaeon? What was the relevance of borago officinalis? How did Cornelius come to have a key into Faerie, and how did Tobias lose so precious a thing, when he had previously fought off Faerie itself in order to keep it?
Theodosius’s questions went on and on, his mind alight with speculation. He withdrew the key from his pocket and turned it over in his hands once more, intrigued. He could not doubt that Hattie’s glass trinket was the key spoken of, for it surely opened Tobias’s strongbox — a box which, he suspected, had belonged to Cornelius before. Why had its existence so interested the fae?
And what was the “supply” Cornelius had written of? Perhaps he referred to the fruits Theodosius had found therein, though it strained credulity to imagine that they had been preserved for a hundred years.
His fingers traced the centre of the ornament, where a golden apple had briefly appeared before. He got out of his chair and went to the window, where he returned the key to its previous position, hanging in the sun. The flash of gold reappeared, forming the wavering outline of an apple once more.
And the patterns were once again cast over the floor, a blur of colour which Theodosius could not interpret, no matter how long he waited and studied and thought.
It was enough, he felt, to drive a person mad. But Hattie would return soon. This was her mystery, and he would be delighted to place the problem into her eager hands and watch what she made of it all.
In the meantime, Theodosius returned to his tea.
Chapter Three
Faerie Fruit Page 12
