Again Earl nodded. “It was something very bad. Evil. There were things there I almost knew, almost understood. But I've lost the key.”
“What was there?” persisted Heather.
“I wouldn't soil words with it, even if I could. But there was someone I knew, a face. The name was just out of reach, but the face I knew.”
Heather leaned forward. “A face from the dreams?”
“One of them. A woman, beautiful, and very, very evil. Once I knew that, I ran. They followed. They were after me, but …” A look of pained remembrance clouded his face. “But I escaped.”
“Well, that's good, then. You got away,” Welly said cheerfully.
Earl's reply was very quiet. “It would be better if I knew how I got away.”
Heather patted his hand. “That's no matter. You're a skilled outdoorsman, and you made it back. That's all that counts. The doctor says that if you rest and drink that nasty broth Cook makes, you'll be up in a week or two.”
“He also said,” added Welly, imitating the nasal falsetto of the town's doctor, “ ‘No more traipsing about in storms for that young man. I certainly hope he's learned his lesson.’”
Earl laughed ruefully. “I didn't learn what I needed. But I'll do my best about the storms.”
As weeks passed, Earl recovered steadily. His mind, too, was more at ease. He would gladly have dismissed the whole thing as a particularly dreadful dream if the images hadn't stayed so vivid. He was oppressed, too, with a curious sense of waiting, of suspension between two acts of a drama.
Meanwhile, the year progressed, and Yule was drawing near. This was one celebration all post-Devastation religions shared. It marked the Turn of Seasons or the Savior's Birth or Hanukkah or the Victory of Light. It was celebrated on the winter solstice, December twenty-second.
Earl was now fully recovered but stayed close to home, in the library or his room. The first day he ventured from the school grounds was the Sunday before Yule, when he decided to go into town and buy gifts for his two friends.
Every year, the headmaster gave each student a few coins as a Yule gift. Earl had saved most of his, never finding much he thought worth buying. But having two friends in his life seemed to call for something special. So this Sunday he scooped his little sack of coins into his pocket and set off into town.
He had no clear idea what he wanted, but he figured he'd know when he saw it. Shops were open and temporary stalls set up to accommodate pre-Yule shoppers. Some merchants and customers had come from miles away, and the snow in the streets was churned to dirty slush. Candles burned gaily in windows, colored awnings fluttered, and everywhere people seemed happy and busy.
Earl looked at the candlemaker's stall, the leather shop, and places where they sold woven goods of wool and flax. He wished he could buy Heather some fine fabric. She was, he believed, much less homely than she thought, and maybe a splendid new dress would help her agree. But he didn't have enough coins for anything but undyed browns.
Today the festivities were aided by a traveling fiddler. For a time, Earl stood amid the jostling crowd, eyes closed, listening as the strains soared between carefree dances and melancholy laments. A snatch of tune brushed lightly at a memory but was gone before he could catch it.
He pushed the occurrence aside and continued examining shops and stalls. The wood-carver's appealed for the tangy smell and the feel of its wares. But wood was rare and expensive, as was the glassblower's beautiful work. Both the potters and weavers of grass made things that were useful but of little beauty.
For a while, he was drawn to the hot orange glow of the blacksmith's forge, to the heavy musical clanging of the hammers and the sheer strength of the man who wielded them. Of course, Welly would love a sword, but for that he'd need a true liege lord or at least a friend who was a good deal wealthier.
Earl joined a ragged cluster of children hovering about a booth selling special Yule foods. The spicy odors were painfully enticing, but friendship, he felt, deserved something more lasting.
He was becoming discouraged when, wandering down a side street, he came upon an ancient half-timbered building housing a small antiquities shop. His spirits lifted. Surely he would find something special here.
As he opened the narrow door, setting the bells jangling, a little bald man bustled out of a back room. Wrinkled and bent over, he seemed as ancient as his wares. The man noticed Earl's student garb, which in most cases marked one as an aristocrat, and he became properly deferential.
“May I help you, young sir?”
“Perhaps, but I want to look around first.”
“Certainly, certainly. I am at your service.” And he began pottering around a relic-strewn table in the back.
The cluttered shop smelled of intriguing, musty age. Earl's eyes wandered over the shelves, tables, cases, and boxes that lay on all sides and overflowed with a profusion of interesting items. On one shelf stood a stack of shiny rectangular trays with raised inside divisions. They were made of the soft ancient metal aluminum. But though attractive, they didn't seem of much use.
There were shelves of antique pottery much finer than anything produced today. And there were even cups of the rare substance Styrofoam. He knew his funds weren't equal to those.
What delighted him most were the items made from plastic. The ancient material was so smooth and light, and he wondered over the lost process for making it. Perhaps he had enough money for a small item of plastic.
Old fabrics hung in the back of the shop. Some were lovely, with an exotic feel, probably made of artificial materials like woven plastic. Even where faded, the rare colors spoke of ancient wealth and gaiety. But most were mere worn tatters, and all seemed too frail for the modern world.
In one case, in a far corner, were piled trays of jewelry. He had to shove aside decayed shoes and a stack of grooved black disks to see into it.
While ostensibly doing repairs at his back table, the old proprietor watched him keenly. Earl cleared his throat, trying to sound as though he examined expensive antiques every day. “Could I look at that tray, please?”
“Certainly, sir, right away.” The man scurried over and pulled out the tray. He hovered like a spider as the boy ran thin fingers through the small glittering treasures. Earl knew that many were beyond his price, but some were not. Perhaps something here for Heather. Wearing some of these could make anyone feel beautiful.
He picked out and replaced several pieces, and then took up a small gold ring. It wasn't real gold, but some gold-looking metal. It had a broad band with spiral patterns around the outside. Set into it was a purple jewel, glass, not amethyst, but it was nicely cut and sparkled in the light. He turned it over in his hand and saw writing on the inside. Holding it up to a dust-filmed window, he made out the words “Cracker Jack.”
He wondered what that meant. Some ancient charm or good-luck phrase? He didn't know, but the thing felt right. It seemed bright and cheery, like Heather herself.
“I'll take this,” he said firmly. “And I'll need something else.” He looked into the case again, squatting down to see the lower shelf. Many small objects were jammed together, including parts of several chess sets. “I'd like to see some of those.” He pointed, and the old man bobbed his head and brought out a handful of chessmen, spilling them carefully over the case top.
Some were wood, one was made of stone, and several were metal. But the ones that caught Earl's eye were of plastic. He picked up a black bishop, admiring its cool feel, its smooth surface. Then he put it down in favor of a knight, its plastic the creamy white of fabled ivory. The figure was a horse head, but not a modern horse, heavy-browed and shaggy. This horse had a high, arched neck and delicate face. A proud mane bristled along the neck from its base to the small pointed ears. He would get this for Welly, a token of his friend's knighthood.
At last Earl left the shop, carefully clutching the gifts, which the proprietor had wrapped in a scrap of wool. He was so pleased with his purchases, he wanted to open
the package and look at them again, but decided against it for fear of dropping them in the slush.
This visit had almost finished his savings. Back at the town square, he pulled the coin bag from his pocket and stuffed the small parcels inside. Then he glanced up to find Heather looking at a booth, just across the street.
Jumping guiltily, he crammed the bag deep into a coat pocket as Heather turned and waved at him. “Oh, Earl,” she said, running over to him, “isn't the town exciting just before Yule? Everything's so bright and happy, and everyone's got their decorations up. You've been window-shopping, too?”
“Yes, I have.” His voice sounded uncommonly high to his own ears.
“I've been at it all morning,” she said dreamily. “But if we don't want to miss lunch, we'd better hurry back. Cook said there might be something special; Sunday lunch before Yule, you know.”
Together they headed up the street toward the school. As they walked, Earl began to feel odd: strangely chilled and out of focus. He wondered if he was ill again. Perhaps he'd eaten something bad at breakfast?
Heather was talking, but he found it hard to concentrate on her words. Then something she said riveted his attention. “Did you see that woman watching us? She's so beautiful. I'd love to look like her.”
Earl stood still, started to turn, then stopped. “Describe her to me,” he whispered.
“Well, her skin's pale—like yours, really. And she's got lovely long black hair, all tumbling out of her hood.”
“And green eyes,” he said flatly.
“I can't tell; she's too far. But she certainly seems interested in us. Do you know her?”
“She's the woman in the storm, in the dreams. I must get away, mustn't let her know I've seen her.”
They started walking up the street again, Earl trying to hide his tension. “We can lose her in these alleys,” Heather suggested. “If that's what you want.”
“Yes, let's try.”
They reached a corner. The buildings sagged comfortably toward each other across a narrow alley. With seeming nonchalance, they turned right. As soon as they were out of sight, they broke into a run, slipping and sliding over the half-frozen slush. Abruptly they skidded into another alley and, farther on, into another.
At last the maze opened between two buildings not far from the school gate. Looking cautiously in all directions, they saw no cloaked figure and pelted across the last open space and through the gate.
Once inside the school, Heather leaned against a pillar and panted for breath. She'd found the escape great fun and was about to say so, but a glance at Earl's ashen face showed he'd considered it anything but fun.
“Thank you,” he said shakily. “I'm glad you were there. Better get to lunch now.”
They parted, and Heather was not greatly surprised when Earl did not come to lunch. It was a pity, she thought, because they had meat. Not little bits in stew, but great steaming slices of it on bread. She ate with Welly and in a hushed voice told him about the adventures of the morning.
For two days, nothing happened. They saw Earl only in class, and there he seemed tense and distracted. Dark circles had reappeared under his eyes.
On the afternoon of the third day, they were in culture class, the only period all three shared. The subject for the day was ancient architecture, and the master was extolling structural steel. Halfway through, the class was interrupted by the entrance of a monitor. He went to the master, muttered something, then walked down the benches directly to Earl.
“Master Greenhow wants to see you in his office. He has some strangers with him.”
Color drained from Earl's face, and for a moment he looked as though he would faint. Then, woodenly, he stood up and left the room. Welly and Heather exchanged worried glances.
With leaden steps, Earl walked down the corridors. The ancient stone walls pressed in heavily around him. He was walking into a trap; he knew it. But like a helpless animal, he couldn't understand or prevent it. At the office door, he forced a hand up and knocked.
“Come in,” Master Greenhow's voice said through the heavy oak door. Mechanically Earl obeyed.
“Ah, Earl, have a seat.” The master waved at a straight-backed wooden chair beside his desk. Earl sat and raised his eyes. Across the desk, seated in chairs by the records cabinet, were a woman and a man. The woman he knew and tried desperately not to show it.
“Earl, let me introduce you to two relatives of yours. Your aunt Maureen and uncle … Garth, was it? ”
The bearded man nodded. “Uncle Garth,” he repeated in a gravelly voice.
Earl turned guarded eyes on the man. He was large and powerful-looking. His skin was darker than his companion's, and under a thatch of coarse gray hair, his eyes were pale and close-set. He smiled broadly at Earl, showing yellowed teeth.
“Little Earl,” the woman said musically, “can it possibly be you? I hardly recognize you; you're so … changed. But of course you would be, wouldn't you? The magic of time and all.” She laughed gaily.
“You really are a very fortunate boy, Earl,” Master Greenhow said. “Your aunt and uncle have been looking for you a long time. They tell me your parents were merchants and that you grew up in Denmark. Then, it seems you and your parents came here to Wales to tie in with the wool trade and were never heard from again.”
“Yes,” the woman continued, “my dear sister and her husband and child. Garth and I searched for them every time we were in this country. Then recently, by sheer chance, we heard of the accident at Bedwas and the poor little boy they found wandering about.”
She sat forward, her green eyes studying Earl very closely. “Is it true, then, Earl dear, that you've completely lost your memory? You remember nothing that happened to you before you were … seven?”
“That's correct. I remember nothing.” He clipped off his words, hating even to talk with her.
“Yes. Yes, I can see that you don't.” She sat back, relaxed again. “Dear boy, how very good it is to have finally found you.”
She turned to her companion. “You know, Garth, he really does look the same, now that we know who he is. The same intelligent little face, the same mannerisms, the same tilt of the head.”
Instantly Earl straightened himself.
“Well, madam,” Master Greenhow said, “it certainly is wonderful to find where Earl belongs and have that mystery cleared up. So that language was Danish. Well, well!” He chuckled. “I barely knew there were any Danes left to speak it.”
The headmaster leaned back in his chair. “Of course, we'll miss Earl, though I understand your wanting to take him with you. He's a bright boy, and he's been a good student. He would need to be, you know, for us to have kept him at Llandoylan. We are a quality school and don't usually take charity pupils.”
“Oh, but this won't be charity now,” Aunt Maureen said silkily. “We're not exactly wealthy, but we've done quite well in the import business. We can leave you a little now and send you more later, to help make up for your years of kindness to our dear boy.” She smiled sweetly, and Earl felt his insides knot.
“Well, that's very generous of you!” Greenhow bubbled. “Very generous. Now, will you be wanting to take him with you this afternoon?”
Maureen started to reply, but Earl interrupted. “I can't go this afternoon. I have to pack and … and say good-bye to friends.”
“Oh, certainly,” the woman said soothingly. “We understand, dear. This all must be quite a shock to you, and with you recently so sick. Master Greenhow tells us you were delirious for days after being lost in a blizzard. What a dreadful experience.”
Earl lowered his eyes. “Yes, ma'am. But I'm better now. I just remember that I was sick.”
She smiled. “Poor thing. A bad sickness can be so confusing. And now on top of it we add this big change. One moment you're a mysterious orphan and the next you have a past—and a family. Of course we can wait, dear. We'll stay the night in town and be back for you in the morning.”
After par
ting cordialities, the woman swept out of the room, followed by Uncle Garth, who gave Earl a loving grin that set his spine tingling. The boy looked after the two numbly, scarcely hearing Headmaster Greenhow's words of congratulations.
That evening, Welly and Heather were alarmed at their friend's absence from dinner. As soon as the meal was over, they hurried up to his room and found him stuffing his few possessions into a backpack.
“What's all this?” Heather said breathlessly. “There's a rumor going about that you've found some long-lost relatives. Are you really leaving? ”
“Yes,” he said coldly. “I'm leaving, but not with them.”
Welly plumped himself down on the room's one chair. “What do you mean?”
“Those people aren't relatives, or if they are, I'd as soon they stayed lost. True, I know nothing about my past. But what they said was all wrong. And those two are the most wrong of all.”
Earl tied up his pack and leaned back against the wall at the head of his bed. “The woman was very anxious to confirm that I remember nothing about my life before coming here. And I don't! But I do know that whoever she is, she is loathsome and bears absolutely no love for me.”
“But still,” Welly said practically, “couldn't you use them to find out something more about yourself?”
“Yes, I probably could. That woman holds some of the keys I'm looking for. But I'll find out who I am some other way, or I'll just get along without knowing.”
Heather sat down on the edge of the bed, chewing her braid. “So, you're not going with them in the morning, then?”
“I'm leaving tonight as soon as the building's asleep, and going as far and as fast as I can before morning.”
“But where will you go?” she asked.
He looked down at his pack forlornly. “I don't know.”
Welly stood resolutely. “Well, you can't just go barging off into nowhere, and you certainly can't go alone.”
“Right!” Heather agreed.
Welly continued. “The best thing would be for you to find someplace nearby to hole up until things blow over. Heather and I can slip out at night and bring you food and let you know how things stand here. Then when the coast is clear, we'll ferry you off someplace planned.”
Tomorrow's Magic Page 6
