by Renee Duke
“Yeah, I did,” said Dane.
“Me too,” said Paige. “She was standing on that ridge where we met her. She didn’t say much. Just sort of re-said what she said then—that we still have some ‘lost ones’ to save. Was that how she was in your dreams?”
“Pretty much,” Dane confirmed. “She seemed to think we’d be going to them soon. But she wanted us to be careful, because the sorcerer still wants to stop us.” He frowned. “I thought, after what happened in the mid-time, he wasn’t supposed to be able to get at us in our own time. Or show up in other ones.”
“I don’t think he can,” said Jack. “Not like before. What I got from last night’s dream was that, since we now have the Arcanus Piece, he can’t actually harm us. Or any other medallion user. Not personally, anyway. But we can still be harmed through other people. People he can somehow influence or control.” He paused. “I say, you did bring the Arcanus Piece, didn’t you? And the other Keeper Pieces we’ve collected?”
“Of course,” said Paige. “They’re locked in that jewellery box I thought the Customs guy was going to make me open at the airport. Fortunately, he didn’t. Since the other medallion users are the only ones who know we’ve got them, Mum might have asked awkward questions.” She smiled. “I did have a story ready for her, though. Inspired by exposure to the silver tongues of Grandad and yourself, lying doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it used to.”
“It shouldn’t bother you at all if it’s connected to our use of the medallion,” Jack avowed. “Think of it as being a creative re-arrangement of facts designed to assist us in our quest to find Varteni. What was the story?”
“That Grantie had secretly started a Keeper Piece collection and had let me take her acquisitions back to Canada with me so I could show them to my friends. Mum would have been horrified. Our parents, and yours, already think it’s reckless of her to let us wear the medallion so much.”
When Grantie Etta first presented them with the solid gold, extremely valuable, Keeper medallion, they had taken turns wearing it, but for the past few months, it had been in Canada, hidden away in its specially carved box. Now that the cousins were together again, they had resumed the practice of wearing it on a daily basis. The day before, Dane had had it on. Today, Paige did.
“I was ready for awkward questions, too,” said Dane, “but not with a story. I was just going to pull out my harmonica and use it as a distraction.”
“Harmonica?”
“Yeah. Mémé and Pépé are spending Christmas in Quebec this year, with Pépé’s sister. They headed out over a week ago and gave us our presents early. One of mine was a harmonica. A really nice one. Mum and Dad hate it, but since it came from loving grandparents, they can’t very well take it away from me. I actually quite enjoy making music with it.”
“Making irritating, high-pitched, unmelodic noises, you mean,” Paige amended.
“I’ll get better at it. Pépé said it takes practice. He plays really well.”
“He’s got an ear for music. You haven’t.”
“I do, too.”
“Hah!”
“How would your having a harmonica have distracted Auntie Tania?” Jack wanted to know.
“She thinks it got left behind. I’m sure seeing it would have taken her attention away from Paige and the Customs officer.” He grinned. “After I packed it, she unpacked it, but I slipped it into the side pouch just as we were leaving the house.”
Paige groaned. “If I’d known, I’d have slipped it out.”
“Well, despite negative family feeling regarding harmonicas, I doubt it would have been much of a distraction,” said Jack. “Oh, look. Zach and Alina are here.”
His cousins looked across the courtyard and saw Zach and Alina coming through the gates with their parents, grandparents, and Priska, who had baby Tatjana bundled up in a push-chair.
They entered the guesthouse just as Mrs. Marchand, Aunt Augusta, and Uncle Gareth came downstairs to join Paige and the boys.
“No Klaus?” Mrs. Marchand asked.
“He must work,” Priska replied. “A new collection has arrived and must be catalogued.”
Klaus was the assistant curator at a small museum. Though the children usually preceded the names of adult cousins with ‘Cousin’ or the courtesy titles of ‘Aunt’ and ‘Uncle’, they did not do so for Klaus and Priska because Klaus and Priska had only been in their late teens when they first knew them; Priska as the Taisleys’ au pair, and Klaus as a student studying at Oxford. Since they had called them by their first names then, they still did so. For Klaus’s parents, older sister, and brother-in-law, they employed the courtesy titles.
Aunt Emma countered Mrs. Marchand’s inquiry with, “No Alan?”
“He has to work, too. But as a concession to our arrival, and yours, he isn’t actually filming. Just out and about on various film-related business. He said he’d try to meet us by the Neues Rathaus in time for the second Glockenspiel performance.”
“That’s at noon,” said Aunt Regina. “We should be able to get there by then. I take it you’re up to doing the markets, Tania?”
“I think so. What’s a little jet lag when there are sights to see and shopping to do? I could do without the snow, however. It’s been coming down for almost an hour.”
As soon as the Bauers had checked into the guesthouse and deposited their luggage, the group travelled to the Marienplatz via the U-Bahn. Doing their best to ignore the enticing sights, sounds, and smells of the busy Christmas Market, they moved toward their immediate goal—the impressive Neo-Gothic structure known as the Neues Rathaus, the New Town Hall. Now well over a hundred years old, its clock tower housed a musical clock with large mechanical figures that went into action at set times each day to re-create two important scenes from Munich’s past: a medieval tournament held to celebrate a royal wedding, and a barrel dance celebrating the end of a plague. The Glockenspiel performance was a popular tourist attraction, and with the clock showing ten minutes to twelve, the area was jam-packed with people.
“Look for your father,” Mrs. Marchand told Paige and Dane. “There’s such a crowd, I don’t know we’ll be able to find him, but…oh, there he is.”
She pointed to where Mr. Marchand and two young men stood, waving and beckoning.
“We staked out a good place for you,” Mr. Marchand said as they joined them.
A few minutes later, the Glockenspiel music started, and all heads turned upward.
“Aren’t you going to film it?” Dane asked Jeff Brockton, who was holding a small digital movie camera but had not switched it on.
“No. There are lots of videos of this on the Net. Sometimes it’s nice to just enjoy things in the moment.”
Enjoy it they did, but even though the snow had stopped, the day was a cold one. By the time the show was over, several people were stamping their feet in an attempt to warm up. Mrs. Marchand and Aunt Augusta were among them. Seeing this, Aunt Regina suggested they temporarily by-pass the market’s craft stalls and patronize the ones offering hot soup, noodles, sausages, roast chestnuts, potato pancakes, and other heat generating foodstuffs. Everyone was agreeable, although the sweet-toothed Jack was more interested in hot chocolate and the vast array of cakes, chocolate-coated fruit, spiced cookies, and gingerbread.
Once they had eaten, the two young men went off to deal with some film business and the others turned their attention to the stalls displaying such Christmassy commodities as toys, nutcrackers, ornaments, and nativity scenes.
“I’m really enjoying this,” said Mrs. Marchand, after making several purchases.
“So am I,” said Aunt Augusta. “I can’t believe we’ve never come here before. This is delightful. Other than it being so cold, of course.”
“Of course,” her sister agreed.
“Oh, come on, ladies,” Mr. Marchand retorted. “It doesn’t get really cold here until January. And even then it isn’t like being in Siberia. Or even most of Canada.”
“It�
�s still colder than I like it,” said Mrs. Marchand.
“Ten degrees above freezing is colder than you like it. And once there’s snow…” He looked around the group and shook his head sadly. “At home, she won’t even go up Big White with me and the kids. Even though she could stay indoors the whole time if she wanted. Which is what I expect she’ll do when we hit the slopes in Austria. Stay in the chalet and read. Or add a chapter or two to her work-in-progress.”
“Best possible use for a chalet, as far as I’m concerned. If I go out at all, it will be to wander around the village. It looked quite picturesque in the brochure. Albeit, cold.”
“After eighteen years in Canada, I’m surprised you haven’t acclimatized,” said Aunt Regina. “But then, you live in the tropical part, don’t you? British Columbia’s not as cold as some areas.”
“It is during a cold snap,” Mrs. Marchand replied. “Fortunately, those don’t last long.”
“But while they’re on, she hibernates,” said Mr. Marchand. “Doesn’t even poke her nose out the door.”
“Untrue. I stand on the steps and take twelve deep breaths. I consider that sufficient fresh air in winter.”
Before Mr. Marchand could reply, a sudden, “Yoo-hoo, Alan!” drew his attention to a thin, straggly-haired, middle-aged woman who was making her way across to them.
“No-o-o,” he moaned. “No, it can’t be.”
“What can’t be?” asked Mrs. Marchand. Turning to follow his gaze, she beheld his cousin, Beverly Marchand, more commonly known as Ophelia Path-Holder, the most recent name she had chosen for herself. “Oh.”
Some people regarded Cousin Ophelia as an eccentric ‘free spirit’. Others—like Mr. Marchand—regarded her as a nutcase and public nuisance.
“I thought that was you,” Cousin Ophelia said upon reaching them. “I knew you were here, of course. In Munich, I mean. Aunt Marie and Uncle Gaston told me. They arrived at Aunt Heloise’s just as I was leaving. I’m spending Christmas in the Czech Republic, and popped in for a visit prior to flying out of Montreal. I’d already visited her several times while I was there taking a course. She wanted me to stay for Christmas, but friends had already invited me to Prague. I haven’t been in Europe during the holiday season for a couple of years now. I find it so uplifting to immerse myself in all its wonderful old traditions.”
She closed her eyes for a moment a blissful expression on her face. Opening them again she said, “I wasn’t expecting to run into you so soon. When I checked into Gasthaus Volkmar about an hour ago, Herr Volkmar said you’d just gone out. Since I thought I’d have to wait until tonight to meet up, I came over here to get some Dampfnudeln. Have you ever tried Dampfnudeln? Those hot dumplings covered with vanilla sauce? I just love them. I think they’re—”
Wondering what sadistic motives his parents might have had for revealing his location, Mr. Marchand interrupted her. “Gasthaus Volkmar? You’re staying at Gasthaus Volkmar?”
“Yes. When I phoned up from the airport, Herr Volkmar told me he’d just had a cancellation. Wasn’t that lucky? The Threads of Destiny working for me again! They almost always do. I mean, it’s hard to find accommodation anywhere at this time of year, and I hadn’t booked anything in advance because I only decided to come to Germany a couple of days ago. I was in Budapest and getting ready to go on to Prague when, all of a sudden, I felt Munich calling to me. I tried Gasthaus Volkmar first because of what Priska had told me about it when we met at Grantie’s party. It sounded so nice and homey, I got a warm feeling all over just listening to her talk about the place.”
“Did you, now?” Mr. Marchand turned to Priska. “I thought the Volkmars were friends of yours.”
“They are,” she replied, looking bewildered.
“And yet, you unleashed this upon them.”
He waved toward Cousin Ophelia, who laughed, but not, Paige thought, before she saw a tiny flicker of hurt in her eyes. “Don’t pay any attention to him, Priska. He’s just teasing. Like cousins do. I know he finds my approach to life a bit disconcerting at times. It’s probably because he’s so much younger. I’m sure if we were closer in age, we’d have bonded better in childhood.”
“Maybe,” said Mr. Marchand, unconvinced.
“Oh, I’m quite certain. I—” Cousin Ophelia broke off to peer closely at Dane. “Why, Dane, it might just be the winter boots but…no…you have. You’ve grown. You’re taller than Paige now.”
Dane beamed. “I sure am. By a whole inch.”
“More like half,” said Paige, with whom this rankled. “And I’ve grown, too. A bit.”
“Just not as much as me,” Dane crowed.
Cousin Ophelia agreed. “Your height gain is more obvious. And big sisters do have to resign themselves to the fact that their little brothers will eventually shoot past them, Paige.”
“I know. I just wasn’t looking for him to do it so soon.”
Jack sighed. “At least you’ve grown as well. I haven’t.”
“Yes you have, dear,” his mother contradicted him. “A smidge, anyway. You’ve just temporarily tapered off. You’re sure to start sprouting again in a little while. Probably quite dramatically once you hit puberty.”
“Suppose I have delayed puberty? I’ve read about that.”
“It’s highly unlikely. Your birth parents gave us all their medical information and nothing of that nature is on record. And puberty’s a ways off yet. You won’t even be ten until the end of the month.”
“Still think you should have held out a day,” said Uncle Gareth. “You could have been England’s New Year’s baby if you’d arrived just after midnight instead of just before.”
Jack sighed again. “It would have been nice to be special.”
“You’re special to us, dear,” Aunt Augusta assured him.
“A New Year’s Eve birthday makes you a bit special,” said Mr. Marchand. “I got two June bugs, both of them born on dates noteworthy only to us. But the whole western world is out celebrating on your birthday.”
“I’ll still be in Prague on New Year’s Eve,” said Cousin Ophelia. “My Czech friends are taking me to a gala dinner featuring Mozart music and a performance by an illusionist.”
“Sounds nice,” said Mr. Marchand. “What do you plan to do while you’re in Munich? Besides wolf down Dampfnudeln, that is.”
“Oh, shop for presents, attend some craft workshops, go to a concert at the Frauenkirche, and, of course, take a day trip out to Neuschwanstein Castle to see it draped with snow. Such a beautiful sight.”
“Uh, when are you thinking of going to Neuschwanstein?”
“I’m not sure.”
“We go the day after tomorrow, I think,” Alina piped up. “Uncle Alan is filming us there.”
Mr. Marchand fought the urge to glare at a little child not his own.
“I am,” he grudgingly confirmed. “But we’ll be starting out really early to avoid the tourist crowd.”
“Very sensible. And I wouldn’t have minded. I often get up to bask in a sunrise. Unfortunately, that’s the one day I already have something arranged. After I called Herr Volkmar, I called some friends I have here and they invited me to go skating at the big open-air rink. Still, not to worry. I’m sure we’ll find something to do together while we’re all here. I guess you’re filming at Neuschwanstein in connection to that new project Uncle Gaston told me about. A docudrama on the Nazification of Germany?” She shuddered. “Not a nice subject. And one I would have thought had already been covered a number of times.”
“It has. But my angle is to explain Hitler’s rise to power through the eyes of kids visiting from a foreign country—England in this case. I’m using their take on what’s going on to show how totally the Nazis took over every aspect of life, and how powerless the average German was to stop them.”
“We learn something of that time from Opa,” said Zach, indicating Uncle Ludi. “And will learn more in school when we are older. Opa says we must know how it happened so it does not ag
ain happen in Germany.”
Mr. Marchand shook his head. “Not just Germany, kiddo. That kind of viciousness can take hold anywhere, with anyone, once fanatics gain control.”
“Which even today, they try to do,” said Uncle Ludi.
“They certainly do,” said Cousin Ophelia. She sighed. “The news can be very depressing at times. I try not to watch it.”
“Can’t pretend nasty people aren’t out there, Bev,” said Mr. Marchand.
“Ophelia, Alan. I do wish you’d call me Ophelia. Beverly is the name of someone I was long ago. I’m different now. And I know nasty people are out there. I ran into one at the airport. Well, two, really. Penelope isn’t very nice either. But she’s still a child, so it’s possible she might change.”
Paige was instantly alert. As were Dane and Jack. “Penelope? As in, Penelope Wolverton-Herne?”
“Yes. She and her father had just got off a plane. We literally bumped into each other at the baggage carousel. Bentley immediately started to rant, but stopped upon recognizing me. He then became more cordial and told me he was in Munich on business. He’s brought Penelope along as a pre-Christmas treat. We didn’t talk long, but that was okay with me. I’m not favourably disposed towards that branch of the family.”
Uncle Edmond’s son Trevor had recently discovered that the Marchands were distantly related to the Wolvertons, and therefore to the Wolverton-Hernes. People the entire party there present would have preferred not to be related to.
“I really, truly, don’t like to pass judgement on my fellow beings,” Cousin Ophelia went on, “but, with the Wolverton-Hernes, I can’t seem to help it.”Aunt Regina snorted derisively. “If your judgement is that they are all, without exception, cold-hearted, mercenary, social-climbing, snobs, I’d say you were spot on.”
While everyone else nodded in agreement, Paige, Dane, and Jack exchanged worried looks. To them, and the other medallion users, the Wolverton-Hernes were far more than that. They had been displaying a keen interest in the medallion for several generations, an interest that had, on occasion, turned violent. Penelope’s great-grandfather, Percival Wolverton-Herne, was now in his nineties, but in his youth he had viciously interrogated the children’s great grandmother after she’d made her one and only time trip. And at Grantie Etta’s party back in the summer, Penelope had cornered Jack, hit him hard, and actually run off with the medallion. Fortunately, Paige and Dane had arrived on the scene, and, with the help of two young Americans, retrieved it. But if Penelope and her father were now in Munich, there was a good chance it was so she could try for it again, should an opportunity come her way.
