Beyond the Door

by Maureen Doyle McQuerry

  Timothy stayed hunched on the log, pondering the problem, and several minutes ticked by before he noticed that Mr. Twig had left his Uilleann pipes behind. Timothy picked them up, planning to return them.

  By using the key provided here, you can decipher the Ogham script that appears in this chapter. Zoom in or increase font size to see code more clearly.

  PETER’S PLAN

  HE NEXT MORNING, Jessica awoke after passing a fitful night in Fiona’s caravan. After scrubbing her face and brushing her hair, she stepped out to the bakery. Fiona had been at work since before dawn. It was one of those crisp fall mornings when the air sparkles and the light is tinted gold.

  Despite the events of the previous day, the Market was back in business. Vendors called greetings to one another as they set up their stalls, caravan windows were flung open, children spilled down the brightly painted steps, and fresh wash flapped on clotheslines. Pigs squealed and a rooster crowed. Pyramids of red and green apples, bolts of shimmering cloth, and intricately worked iron caught Jessica’s eye. She walked down the caravan steps with a certain spring in her step, feeling guilty about her happiness. She shouldn’t be enjoying the morning so much while Sarah was an ermine captured by the Animal Tamer, but sometimes her heart didn’t obey her head.

  Fresh-baked loaves and pies were stacked in tempting piles on the wooden counter outside the yellow caravan, and plates of steaming muffins cooled on the steps. She could hear a male voice humming from nearby, just behind the caravan. Peter appeared, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, his face and hair wet with washing. “You’re up early,” he said.

  “Well, we’ve important work to do.” Jessica looked longingly at the muffins.

  “Have one. They just came out of the oven. Mam won’t mind.”

  Jessica reached for one plump with blueberries, remembering that they were Sarah’s favorite, and she wondered if Sarah had had anything to eat at all.

  Peter shook his hair dry and added, as if reading her thoughts, “Don’t worry about Sarah; I’ve got a plan.” He grinned and grabbed a muffin.

  “What kind of plan?” Jessica didn’t mean the question to sound as sharp as it did, but her cheerful spirits were quickly giving way to a gnawing anxiety. All night she had devised plans, only to discard them one by one. Try as hard as she could, she had come up with no plan at all. She had half expected Cerridwyn or the Greenman to appear to her in a dream and tell her just what to do. When she had finally slept, it was a dreamless sleep. No help came at all.

  “It’s something that occurred to me last night.” Peter’s cheeks bulged with muffin, and he talked as he chewed. “I know some things about the Animal Tamer. My mam, she was …” His eyes shifted away from Jessica. “He enchanted her, too, a long time ago. You’ve seen the scar on her neck?”

  Jessica nodded.

  “My mam has the draíocht pretty strong. She can tell the future sometimes. The Animal Tamer wanted her gift, and no one knew not to trust him then. He turned her into an antelope, put an iron collar on her neck. Whenever she didn’t do what he wanted, he pulled the collar tighter, and”—Peter’s eyes glittered—“and that’s how she got her scar.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Jessica said. “What happened to you?”

  “Oh, I was just a baby. My gram took care of me.” He still wasn’t looking at Jessica.

  “How did she escape?”

  “See, that’s where I got my idea from. Sometimes even the Animal Tamer has to sleep. I’m guessing you can sneak in and make a rescue if you know how. That’s how they got my mam back. We should’ve left the Market then, but we never did. The Market wasn’t always this way. It was a good place once, my mam and gram say. The old Masters of the Market were good people. Sometime before Tristan became Master, the Market changed. Tristan’s in tight with the Animal Tamer, and he’s as bad as they get. Now Tristan thinks he owns everything in the Market, and he thinks he owns my mam, too.” His eyes shining, Peter finally looked straight at Jessica. “But I think it’s the Animal Tamer that controls it all.”

  Jessica was impatient to get to the plan. “How did your mother get rescued when the Animal Tamer was sleeping?”

  “There’s this draught, see, what makes folks sleep very heavy, so they don’t wake for nothing. The old Masters knew how to make it, and my gram and now my mam does, too. If we could somehow trick the Animal Tamer into taking it, then I could sneak in and get Sarah while he’s asleep. Then we’ll find the right draíocht to turn her back.” Peter beamed. “That’s my plan.”

  It didn’t sound like much of a plan to Jessica. “Don’t you think that sounds too simple? The Animal Tamer already changed you into a dog once. I mean, he isn’t someone to fool with.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” Peter folded his arms.

  “Well, then, how did your mother get turned back from an antelope?” Jessica persisted.

  “My gram used a spell in Ogham. It’s an old language some Travelers understand. I can read it a bit myself—my gram taught me—enough to mix up the sleeping draught anyway.”

  “But enough to turn Sarah back into a girl?”

  Peter shrugged. “The important thing is we get Sarah back. Then we can figure out how to get her turned right again.”

  It all sounded haphazard to Jessica, but she had no better plan. The longer they waited, the more time Balor had to do something dreadful to Sarah. “Okay,” she said, “but I don’t think we can wait until night.”

  “Don’t worry. He usually takes a midday lie-down. I’ll get started on the draught right away.”

  Peter ran humming into the caravan. Jessica sat on the bench, thinking that he probably pictured himself as some sort of knight coming to rescue Sarah. Shouldn’t she know what to do? What good was having Cerridwyn’s skills if she couldn’t help her friend? Where were her supposed powers? She felt bereft of any wisdom. She’d already lost her necklace from Cerridwyn trying to bargain for Sarah, and now Timothy and Sarah were depending on her.

  Peter reappeared, interrupting her troubled thoughts. “There are a few things I need to get,” he said. “It might be best if you don’t come. And I need to think up a plan to get him to drink the stuff.”

  “What about Tristan?” Jessica offered. “He trusts him.”

  Peter thought a moment. “They usually eat together, but …” Suddenly, Peter smacked the side of his head. “Why didn’t I think of it before? I’ll be back in a bit!” And without another word of explanation, he hurried off.

  Jessica rose to her feet. Maybe Peter’s plan would work, and maybe it wouldn’t, but she didn’t want to wait to find out. She would go to Gwydon and Julian. They would know what to do.

  The market was familiar now, and Jessica was able to find her way to Julian’s caravan more easily. But the bright, hopeful feeling of earlier had worn off. She dodged by the jugglers tossing pomegranates, past flashing necklaces, and around an old woman making lace in the shade. When Julian’s caravan was finally in sight, she ran. She arrived at the steps, hot and breathless. A note was tacked to the caravan door.

  Unforeseeable circumstances have called us away.

  The Storyteller

  Jessica slumped down on the steps, resting her head in her hands. Sweat trickled down her back as she rocked back and forth, trying to calm herself. There was nothing, it seemed, she had learned from Cerridwyn’s book of mythology that could help girls turned into ermines. She couldn’t do spells or potions. Why was she, of all people, the one left to rescue Sarah?

  She began to cry. She wasn’t used to crying; in fact, she never liked it when girls cried. But once the tears started, it was hard to stop. Her shoulders shook and her nose ran.

  After a few minutes, when she was all cried out, she wiped her nose with her skirt and felt a bit better. She stood up. It made more sense to go back to Fiona’s bakery and wait for Peter.

  Just then a large black feather floated down and landed by her foot. She picked it up, noticing how the sun shone on
it with all the colors of a rainbow.

  By using the key provided here, you can decipher the Ogham script that appears in this chapter. Zoom in or increase font size to see code more clearly.

  BLUEBLACK’S

  ETER WAS NOWHERE to be seen when Jessica returned to the bakery caravan. Waiting was the most difficult thing for Jessica to do when something important needed to be done, and she had been waiting all morning. She dropped to the bench again even though her entire body ached. She watched people come and go, order pies, chat with friends … None of them seemed aware that somewhere in the Market a girl was being held captive. She caught whispers about the previous day’s attack of crows. But business in the Market seemed as brisk as usual.

  The sun was warm on the back of her neck. Oh, why didn’t Peter come! Her thoughts ran in circles. Would the Animal Tamer sell Sarah to some unsuspecting customer? If Peter didn’t hurry, they might never be able to rescue her!

  As if in answer to her wish, there he was, loping through the crowds, looking terribly smug.

  “Everything’s ready.” He patted his pants pocket cheerfully. The top of a cork protruded just above the edge.

  All of the anxiety that had been building in Jessica bubbled to the surface. “So what’s your plan?” she said, feeling her face flush, hearing her voice loud and sharp.

  “Just like I told you,” he said. “We’ll get Tristan to give it to him in a drink.”

  Jessica refrained from saying that was her idea, crossed her arms, and asked, “And how are you going to get him to do that?”

  “Every day at lunch, Tristan takes food and drink to the Animal Tamer’s caravan. Then they go over the accounts from the day before. He gets the drinks at Blueblack’s wagon. All I have to do is slip the draught in the drink while he’s getting the food. Well, come on—we don’t want to miss him!”

  Peter hurried away, and Jessica matched his stride. “How can you be sure to get it in the right drink?”

  Peter didn’t seem half as concerned as she thought he should be. He didn’t say anything for a moment, nor did he look at Jessica. “That’s the tricky part,” he finally admitted. “But they each have their own mug, see? We just have to figure out which is which, or maybe I can drug both. Look, I’m doing the best I can.”

  Jessica shook her head. What if he got the wrong mug? There were so many ways this plan could fail!

  Ahead of them arched the ferret-legging tree. Today no raucous crowd gathered underneath its wide-flung branches. Peter stopped a few yards beyond the tree, close to a purple-and-green caravan. The smell of roast chicken and apples filled the air. A crowd was here, gathered around the slab-wood tables and benches, eating and drinking in noisy camaraderie.

  It was obvious at first glance why the man serving drinks was called Blueblack. His hair and beard were so deeply dark, they glowed blue in places. Jessica looked closely, wondering if he had rubbed some kind of grease into both his hair and beard to make them shine that way.

  Peter nudged her hard in the ribs to get her attention and nodded his head. Just off to their right, near the front of the crowd, Tristan was standing on a bench and leaning into the stall, two mugs clutched in his thick, red hands. Today a short sword was sheathed at his side. Jessica could see her necklace around Tristan’s neck glinting in the sun. They moved closer, screening themselves behind the thirsty patrons. “Which mug is which?” Jessica hissed in Peter’s ear.

  One mug was a coppery brown, made from earthenware. The other glinted in the sun, a silver border ringing the rim.

  “The metal one has to be the Animal Tamer’s. He’s got all sorts of things made from metal. But if I can, I’ll drug them both, just to make sure. Stay behind me.”

  Peter slipped as smoothly as a shadow up to the front of the crowd. Men and women, hungry for their midday meal, pressed around him. Tristan thumped the mugs on the counter to get Blueblack’s attention, and the black-bearded man leaned in close. Peter could see his lips move, but he could not hear the words. Then Tristan threw back his red head in laughter as Blueblack poured a thick brown liquid into both mugs.

  Peter shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Jessica guessed he must be trying to think of some way to distract Tristan and draw his attention from Blueblack and the brimming mugs.

  Peter pulled back his leg and kicked the shin of the tall man to his right as hard as he could. The man yelped in pain. Before he had time to look down and see who had done it, Peter vanished into the crowd.

  “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” The tall man looked down at a round-faced fellow next to him, where Peter had stood just a moment before.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” The round man glared up at him.

  “I’d say you do. Just kicked me in the shin!”

  “I beg your pardon, I did no such thing. You must have bumped against something yourself!”

  After a few seconds of what looked to Jessica like a glaring contest, the tall man mumbled something and turned his back on the round man. A small stone came whistling by Jessica’s ear—she knew at once who had thrown it—and hit the tall man square in the middle of his back. The man spun around and shouted, “Now, that will be enough!”

  The round man glared up into his face. “What is it, you gangly scarecrow? Bark your shin again?”

  “Why, you puffed-up little—”

  But Jessica didn’t hear any more. The crowd had begun to murmur. People turned as one, expecting a good fight. Puffing up his chest, Tristan pivoted his attention away from Blueblack to see what was causing a stir in his Market.

  Jessica spotted Peter right behind him, whipping out the vial, uncorking it, and tipping a generous amount of green liquid into the silver mug. But Peter apparently hadn’t counted on Blueblack’s quick eyes, for instead of watching the brewing fight, the bartender’s eyes were fixed on his wares. He reached one thick, hairy arm over the counter and grabbed Peter by the shoulder.

  “Look here, Tristan—he’s trying to poison you!”

  Tristan spun on his heel. “What’s that?”

  Jessica’s heart sank. The crowd, too, swiveled their heads in the other direction.

  “He poured something into your drink!” Blueblack said as Peter struggled vainly in his iron grip.

  Tristan thrust his red face into Peter’s. “Is that true, you little Market whelp?” Tristan drew his sword. “Which drink would you be tampering with? Spit spat, now out with it!”

  “That one, Master.” Blueblack nodded toward the silver mug.

  Tristan pointed his sword at Peter’s chest. The tip pricked through his shirt.

  “We’ll be seeing what the Animal Tamer has to say about this.”

  Blueblack loosened his grip, and Tristan poked Peter with the sword. “Get going.” He spun Peter around and marched him forward, prodding him from behind every few steps.

  Watching from the edge of the crowd, Jessica balled her fists in vexation. Now things were even worse than before! She moved stealthily to follow.

  When they arrived at the Animal Tamer’s stall, Balor was talking to a couple and holding the end of a chain. At the other end crouched a blue-winged animal with enormous ears. The sun reflected off the Animal Tamer’s hair, turning it to gold. The light flashed off the silver buttons on his vest and seemed to fill his deep laugh. “The animal’s wings match your eyes, lady. This is a venustas, a rare animal and quite dear to me.”

  The woman giggled and looked inquiringly at her husband.

  Tristan’s shout spoiled the sale. His voice cut through the air with a high whine. “Animal Tamer, I’ve brought you a present!”

  Balor looked up in annoyance, but his expression changed the instant he spotted Peter. “Oh, did you, now? And what’s the young gentleman been up to?”

  “Tried to poison you. Poured some nonsense into your drink.” And Tristan gave Peter a particularly sharp poke in the back with the sword. Peter jerked forward. The customer put his arm protectively around hi
s wife and drew back a few paces.

  Jessica could see only Peter’s rigid back and tight shoulders. She was certain that he was in very deep trouble. Her eyes flew over the cages, looking desperately for Sarah. Maybe, just maybe, she thought, this would be her chance! Perhaps while everyone was distracted by Tristan and Peter, she could do something!

  A round cream-colored pony was chained near the tent. The same monkey she had seen chatter in Sarah’s ear perched on the pony’s back, scratching itself and muttering. Jessica moved quickly around the edge of the stall. The crowd was cheering at something Tristan had said, but she couldn’t hear what it was. A thin trickle of sweat ran down her face and prickled under her arms.

  And then she thought of something Cerridwyn had once told her: that people rarely pay attention; rarely take the time to truly see. Jessica tried as hard as she could to block out the noise of the crowd, her anxious thoughts about Peter and Sarah, and her fear. Finally, she felt her heart rate slowing, and she began to scan the cages.

  Behind a large iguana was a very small cage. Inside it, an ermine curled into a tight ball of white against one of the wire sides. Its fur glistened in the sun. Even as an animal, Jessica thought, Sarah was beautiful.

  The eyes of the crowd were still on the spectacle of the young boy who had tried to poison the Animal Tamer’s drink. It wasn’t often that a criminal was caught in the Market, and it was worse when the criminal was one of their own. Everyone in the Market knew Peter. He held his head high; his eyes looked straight ahead. The crowd, hungry for more drama after yesterday’s spectacle, drew close to listen. No one noticed when a curly-haired girl opened a cage, drew out a sleeping ermine, and slipped it under her cape. Jessica could feel the ermine’s small bones beneath the soft fur, and something else besides: the tautness of muscle beneath the skin. She closed her hand tightly around the animal, wondering if the animal recognized her. Did it still think like Sarah? Would it know it was being rescued?