Suitcase of Stars
Page 8
I smirked. “What kind of ingredients?” I asked. “Bat bones, parrot tongues, Edelweiss petals collected under a full moon?”
Aiby rolled her eyes. “Kind of, yes,” she said.
“And that’s your job?”
Aiby shook her head. “No, I only sell the items,” she said. “Dad is the one who searches for them in our family. It can be, um, dangerous.”
“And the other two people?” I asked.
“We haven’t found them yet,” Aiby said.
That must be who they were searching for in the village, I thought.
“Why do you need them?” I asked.
“I don’t know if I should say,” Aiby muttered.
I shrugged and nodded. “If you can’t tell me, then don’t worry about it.”
Aiby thought for a moment. “We’re looking for someone who can protect the Emporium.”
“From whom?” I asked.
A cloud passed in front of the sun. “There are dangers that I can’t tell you about,” Aiby said. “You saw some of those things with your own eyes already. Thankfully, I found you in time.”
Neither of us said anything for a long time. I knew there was a lot she still hadn’t told me, but the little she had already said would be giving me nightmares for a while. It made me wonder what the people of Applecross would do when they learned that a magical store was opening in their village.
I figured I’d ask about something safer. “What’s all this stuff about the six families?” I asked.
“There are seven families, actually,” Aiby said. “They aren’t the initial families who began everything, but there are always only seven. We are one family. There’s also the Scarselli family, the Tiagos, the Askells —”
I held my hand up to stop her. “Wait, what was the last name you said?”
“The Askells,” Aiby repeated. A long shiver ran down my spine.
“I’ve heard that name before,” I said. “Well, that’s not completely true. I’ve read that name before.”
Aiby narrowed her eyes. “Where?”
“It was written down on a list in Mr. Everett’s shop,” I said.
Aiby just stared at me.
“Do you know who Mr. Everett is?” I asked.
Aiby shook her head. “Do you know who the Askells are?” she asked, her green eyes more intense than ever.
I got the sense that she was very interested in the Askells.
At five o’clock that same afternoon, Aiby and I made our way through the main square of Applecross toward The Curious Traveler. I pedaled my bike while Aiby rode on the handlebars. After the ankle injury, the post office had given Jules a scooter. Now Jules sputtered around the country roads on his new ride, causing all the dogs to bark well before he arrived. He gave the bike to me as thanks for covering his route while he was laid up. That was just fine by me, since riding the bike was much faster than walking everywhere.
Earlier that day, Aiby had insisted on speaking to Mr. Everett to find out why he was interested in the Askell family and how he knew the name. As far as Aiby knew, the names of the seven families who took turns running the Enchanted Emporium were only known to each other.
I slowly came to a stop in front of The Curious Traveler. Aiby gracefully hopped off the handlebars and walked toward the shop window. “It looks closed,” she said.
I put a hand on the cushion of The Professor’s favorite chair. It felt cold, meaning Mr. Everett hadn’t been here for a while. I pushed against the door, but it was locked. Patches sniffed at the crack between the door and the step.
“Was this where you saw the list?” Aiby asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Behind the counter.”
“Tell me again what Mr. Everett is like,” Aiby said.
“He’s a pretty quiet guy,” I said. “He’s a retiree and spends most of his time chatting with villagers and writing in a little black book that he always keeps with him. He’s a former professor, he sings in the church choir, and his shop sells souvenirs.” It wasn’t much information, but it was everything I knew.
We went around to the back of the shop to an alleyway that led to Dusker’s garage in one direction and a small fenced-off grassy area in the other. We didn’t find Mr. Everett in either place.
I remembered that Mr. Everett complained about the cats that were sneaking into his back room whenever he left the door ajar.
“Hold on a second,” I said. I made sure no one was watching, then I scurried up the fence. “I just want to check if the back door is open.”
Patches leaned against the fence with his paws in a futile attempt to climb the fence along with me.
When I’d reached the door, Aiby asked, “Is it open?”
The handle didn’t budge. “It’s locked,” I said.
As I was climbing back over the fence, I noticed something glittering in the grass nearby. I walked over to examine it, but it was just a shard of glass.
“Where else we can look for Mr. Everett?” Aiby asked.
An idea came to me. “Come with me,” I said.
We crossed back over Applecross’s main square and entered the McStay Inn. The rugs on the floors were packed with dust and the curtains reeked of cooking smells from the kitchen. The ceiling of the inn was so low that Aiby had to hunch a little to avoid hitting her head. The McStays had prohibited smoking twenty years ago, but the stale scent of tobacco still lingered in the air. Everything creaked, even the lights, and I swore I could hear cockroaches scurrying around inside the walls. I’d heard many times that hot water hadn’t passed through the pipes of the inn in years, meaning cold showers were mandatory.
I could go on, but I won’t. Needless to say, the McStay Inn wasn’t the most welcoming of places. However, many tourists still stayed there, claiming it had “character” due to its no-frills, no-nonsense form of Scottish hospitality.
We found Rufus McStay wedged between two couch cushions in the reception area. He sat in front of a wall with a stuffed owl and a bunch of keys hanging on it. I didn’t see any guests.
“McPhee,” Rufus said. His eyes slid to the side for a moment to see my companion, then came back to me. “How’s your old man?”
He crushed my hand with a firm handshake. “My father is doing well, Mr. McStay,” I said, doing a decent job of hiding the pain.
“What can I do for you?” he asked. He was watching Aiby while she examined the framed hunting photographs on the wall. I could see that Mr. McStay was curious about my friend, but I decided to ignore it.
“I’m looking for Mr. Everett,” I said. “Is he here?”
“The Professor? Why?” Mr. McStay said in his booming voice.
“He mentioned a Dutch guest who was staying here,” I said, remembering that Mr. Everett said he’d been needed as a translator.
“Oh, yes, that scoundrel!” Rufus McStay said. “Our Dutch guest is crazy — completely crazy!”
At that point, Aiby turned around to look at Mr. McStay for the first time. “Do you like those photos?” he asked her. “They were taken in the summer of ’76, the famous summer a thousand wild boars . . .”
Oh, no, I thought. Not that story again.
“Why is your Dutch guest crazy?” I asked, trying to distract him before he started one of his long and boring tales. But it was too late — with a new listener for his stories, Rufus McStay certainly wasn’t going to stop now.
I sighed, realizing I would learn no more about the mysterious Dutchman. I tried to find a way to escape from Rufus McStay’s story, but Aiby seemed perfectly relaxed. She smiled sweetly at Mr. McStay and allowed him to show her one photo, and then another. After a few moments of listening patiently, Aiby cleverly asked a question about Mr. Everett and the so-called crazy Dutchman.
“Thank goodness The Professor came to the rescue!” Mr. McStay said. “I didn’t have a clue what that foreigner wanted. He was furious about something or other, and he refused to leave the inn for three whole days. As far as I could tell, he wanted to know
about the full moon. He’s a complete lunatic, I tell you. This morning he disappeared at the crack of dawn without even leaving a note.”
“Did he pay you at least?” Aiby asked.
Mr. McStay’s chest puffed up. “I knew that fella was trouble as soon as I set eyes on him, so I made him pay for the whole week in advance.”
“So he might come back?” Aiby asked.
“Who knows,” Mr. McStay said. “The keys to room number nineteen are hanging right behind me. If he comes back, his bed is still available.”
Just then, Aiby winked at me — and believe it or not, I knew exactly what she wanted me to do. She pointed at another hunting photo, feigning interest in it so that the innkeeper would turn his back to me.
I slipped behind the counter, ignoring the baleful look the stuffed owl seemed to be giving me, and snatched the key to room nineteen. As quiet as a mouse, I disappeared up the deteriorating wooden staircase, and then wandered through a narrow hallway.
I was trying to find room nineteen, but the inn’s numbering system defied all logic. Room sixteen followed room two, and room nine was next to room twenty-one. Room five was in the attic — and right across from the room I was looking for. I pulled the key from my pocket, slipped it into the lock, and turned. The door opened quietly.
As I stepped inside, I saw that the room was small. It looked like it had been crammed into the corner of the building. The roof’s beams were exposed, and it had one low window that looked out over the church. A gap in the window’s seal let in the chilly evening air, but the room still smelled stale. There was also a lingering smell of incense.
I felt uneasy. After all, I was searching through an unknown person’s room while anyone could easily walk in on me. I didn’t even know what I was looking for.
I noticed the bed was unmade. I lifted the sheets, but nothing was underneath. I glanced into the bathroom, but apart from a bottle left next to the sink and a strange smell, there were no signs that anyone had been there.
When I checked under the bed, I found a strange, battered suitcase. I opened it to find that it was empty. It did, however, have a beautiful cloth lining that was patterned with stars. There was either a number or a strange letter inside each star. It was a little odd that an otherwise shabby suitcase would have such an intricate, expensive-looking lining, but it didn’t provide me with any answers, so I slipped it back under the bed.
I headed to the door more than a little disappointed. As soon as I stepped into the hallway, I could hear that Mr. McStay was still telling his story. “And this very shotgun was the one that took down the legendary Golden Hind at Weasley Point!”
I was just about to leave the room and shut the door behind me when I realized something: I’d seen the bottle next to the sink before.
I tiptoed back to the bathroom and picked up the bottle. I turned it around in my hands and then tipped it upside down. There was an engraving on the bottom that read, “Murano Brothers – Sea Couriers – Always on the crest of a wave.”
That’s weird, I thought. I have a Murano Brothers bottle back home in my collection of treasures. I sighed. So what? There are probably hundreds of them.
I decided that it was time to leave. I crept downstairs to where Aiby was still listening patiently to Mr. McStay. I managed to drag her out of the inn by promising the innkeeper we would return to hear his story about the Great Salmon of ’92 later in the week.
We proceeded toward the parsonage in the hopes that Reverend Prospero might know where Mr. Everett was. Everything was so quiet that I could hear the choir practicing in the church. As we drew closer to the church, I told Aiby about the bottle I’d found in the bathroom, and that it was similar to the one I’d found on the beach. But before I got a chance to tell her about the riddle, Aiby fainted right into my arms.
“Aiby! Aiby!” I cried. I held her in my arms, trying to wake her up. Just then, Meb the dressmaker saw us and hurried over to help.
“I’ll go get the doctor,” I said to her.
“No, Finley,” Meb said. “Let’s bring her inside so she can lie down for a few minutes. She probably just has sunstroke or something.”
Carefully, we laid her on Meb’s couch. As we sat over her, Meb fanned her with a piece of cloth.
A minute or two later, Aiby opened her eyes. She looked at me and then at Meb, who was still waving the makeshift fan over Aiby’s face.
“What happened?” Aiby asked. “Where am I?”
“You passed out,” I told her.
Aiby blinked hard. “I fainted?”
I nodded.
Meb handed Aiby a glass of orange juice. “Has it happened to you before?” she asked.
Aiby slowly sipped the juice. “No,” she said groggily. “How did it happen?”
“Do you remember anything?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “All I remember is hearing the choir sing — then everything went black.”
She slowly stood up from the sofa. She wavered slightly on her long legs, but she managed to stay upright.
I told Meb who Aiby was and where she lived. “How are you two intending to get home?” Meb asked.
“My bike,” I said.
Meb frowned. “That doesn’t sound very safe,” she said. “Would you like a ride in my car, instead?”
It wasn’t a bad idea considering that Aiby had just passed out, but I couldn’t just leave my bicycle behind. Bike theft wasn’t common in Applecross, but I didn’t want to risk losing my only means of transportation.
“Just take Aiby home,” I said.
Aiby kept looking at me as though she wanted me to understand what she was thinking.
“Finley,” Aiby whispered. “The bottle.”
“The bottle?” I said. ”What about it?”
“We need to go where you found it,” Aiby said.
“Do you mean the beach where Baelanch Ba Road curves around?” I asked. She nodded. “Why?”
“Because I think we should,” she said through clenched teeth.
Obviously I was missing something. I looked at Meb, who simply shrugged her shoulders. “Baelanch Ba curves on the way to Burnt Beach, right?” Meb said. “I can take you both there, if you like.”
Aiby nodded. I nodded as well, not wanting to get glared at again. I’d have to risk leaving my bike behind for a little while.
* * *
Aiby and I were walking across the beach about fifty feet apart in search of clues. Patches trotted back and forth between us, occasionally veering off to chase a seagull.
“Where exactly did you find the bottle?” Aiby shouted over to me.
I snorted. “I have no idea!” I said. “How could I remember the exact spot?”
“Jeez, Finley!” she said. “What do you mean you can’t remember?”
“The tide changes the beach every day,” I explained. “And it’s not like there are fixed landmarks or anything to give me a point of reference.”
Meb waited for us back by the road. She seemed amused by our strange request to be brought to the beach, so she gave us half an hour to patrol the beach. She insisted that she take Aiby home afterward, and then drop me off back at my bike.
I was starting to suspect that Aiby wasn’t telling me the whole truth. I felt persuaded by her story about the shop, the keys, the seven families, and all that stuff, but she’d barely said a word about the Askells. In fact, when I had mentioned the name, she’d insisted on leaving the river and returning to the village to speak to Mr. Everett right away. And now that I’d told her about the bottle in the Dutchman’s room and the one I’d found on the beach, here we were combing the beach entirely on her whim.
I kind of felt like I was a puppet in Aiby’s hands. Even though I knew I was being played, I still enjoyed my time with her. I only believed half of what she had told me so far, but I had no choice but to accept things as they were. I mean, I couldn’t just walk away — my curiosity would never have allowed me to leave with so many unanswered questions.
“Finley, look!” Aiby called out. She was holding up a third bottle that looked identical to the other two.
I ran over to Aiby, mirroring her look of amazement. Together, we uncorked the bottle and tipped it over. A piece of rolled-up paper fell into her hand.
She held the note open and read it out loud. “An old king held a contest between his two sons to decide who would inherit his kingdom. He told them that the son whose horse arrived at the church last would be his heir. The youngest son mounted a horse and galloped at great speed toward the church. Now I ask you, giant: why did the youngest son become king?”
“Another mysterious riddle in a bottle,” I said, shaking my head.
“What does it mean?” Aiby asked.
“No idea,” I said.
As I struggled to figure out the riddle, I heard Meb yelling for help.
Aiby and I sprinted toward Meb. As we got closer, I saw a man standing next to her. He was stocky and had a big, bushy beard. Then I saw that he was also holding a strange knife to Meb’s neck. It looked incredibly sharp and had small gems set into its hilt. I immediately knew it had to be a magical item.
Meb was clearly terrified. The man had one of her arms twisted behind her back and he was speaking angrily in a strange language. The more he yelled, the angrier he seemed to get.
“Who is that man?” I said. “Do you recognize him, Aiby?”
When I got no response, I turned to see that Aiby had vanished. “Great,” I muttered to myself. “What do I do now?”
I felt completely overwhelmed by the situation, but Patches didn’t hesitate. He launched himself full speed at the stranger, barking wildly. He jumped with enough enthusiasm to rip the world in two — only to receive a sharp kick to his side. Patches rolled to the ground with a whimper, and then picked himself up. He began to growl again, but this time he kept his distance from the man.
I felt my blood boil at seeing the man kick my dog. The man waved his knife at us and said something I didn’t understand. Meb let out another scream. I knew I had to act quickly. So I swallowed my anger and did the only thing I could think of doing: I put my hands up in the air in surrender.