“The problem we have with Kotcher is that he’s been around a long time,” Ganesh told me. “And he is very good at protecting Bridewell. His guards are always in top form, he works tirelessly, and his reports are excellent. He’s just paranoid about the outside, and you seem to bring out the worst in him, which is bad indeed.” He paused and looked at me with his piercing blue eyes. “To be honest, Alexa, I’m not sure how safe I’d feel if he wasn’t around. Sometimes you have to take the good with the bad to get what you need. It’s something your dad and I are still figuring out.”
Little did I know that it was something I would soon have to figure out for myself as well.
CHAPTER 7
JOCASTAS
Following my afternoon nap I was feeling energized. I joined my father, Ganesh, and Nicolas for dinner off the smoking room in the main dining area. It was good to spend time with them, especially my father, who was looking a little worn out.
“I’d ask you to pass the bread, but you look so beat I’m not sure you could get it all the way over here,” I said.
“You should join the jesters class in session downstairs. I hear they’re looking for a good teacher,” said my father. He did look tired, and even his comeback came off weak as he tried to bring some mental energy to the conversation.
“That’s all right, Daley, you keep trying. Determination is one of your best qualities,” said Ganesh.
“A distant third to my charm and good looks,” added my father.
We talked and ate for over an hour, enjoying the easy quality of our evening meal. It was the most free-spirited gathering of the day, and we all looked forward to it. Nicolas was captivating, and he fit right in with all of us. He shared funny stories about Warvold and we all laughed, and he knew when to let someone else have a chance to talk after he’d been going for a while. Warvold had been late to fatherhood and Nicolas was a youthful twenty-five. He was a good-looking fellow, tall with trimmed dark hair and no beard or mustache.
“Did I tell you I promoted our new friend Silas Hardy?” asked my father.
“Who?” I replied.
“That nice deliveryman we raced on the way to Bridewell. I’ve made him our private courier, which means he carries letters for me whenever I want and burns all of the ones Ganesh tries to send out. Hardy and I are committed to saving poor Ganesh from embarrassing himself.”
“Daley, you’ve got tongue enough for ten rows of teeth,” said Ganesh.
“And you’re so ugly your mother had to slap herself when you were born,” said my father. This went on for some time, the details of which are not worthy of repeating here.
I wanted to get the conversation back over to Nicolas, so after a while I interrupted with a question. “Nicolas, can you tell me about your mother, Renny? I know almost nothing about her and I’d like to learn more.”
Ganesh and my father settled down and reloaded their plates while Nicolas drank his wine and gathered his thoughts.
“Let’s see … my mother was tall and slender and pretty, with dark hair and good teeth. I always remember her good teeth, I’m not sure why. Funny how our memories work, isn’t it? Holding on to the strangest details about a person.” He paused to take another sip of wine, and Ganesh kindly refilled the glass.
Nicolas gestured his thanks and went on. “She was terribly interested in precious stones and jewels. My father had quite a collection of rare gems from his travels. Some he traded for, others he won gambling. I’m told he was quite a hotshot at cards and dice, and I suspect he crisscrossed the globe taking advantage of rich, young rulers wherever he went.
“Renny began making her own bracelets and rings, just trinkets really, but she was good at it. I think most considered her a craftswoman of a high order. Later she became interested in tiny detailed etchings on sapphires and rubies called Jocastas, and the art remained her passion until she died.” Nicolas pulled a necklace from beneath his shirt with a large stone attached.
He held it out so we could look at it clearly. “You can’t see the real detail, because it’s covered by a pattern that hides the real essence of the piece. On the surface you see an elaborate etching, but if you had a powerful magnifying glass, you’d also see that the Jocasta within is a rendering of our family seal: a crown of thorns.” Nicolas showed the stone to each of us up close, and then turned it to look himself, straining to see the details below the surface.
“I was in such a rush to get here I left my glass in Lunenburg. Otherwise I would show it to you. I don’t know how many she did — maybe thirty. The locket my father wore has a similar-looking pattern, only the Jocasta is two tiny hearts with an arrow through them, symbolic of the bond between my mother and father.”
I found the idea of the Jocasta fascinating and wondered aloud if Nicolas knew if she had done any more that were still in existence.
“They took an awful long time to make, sometimes months for just one, so there weren’t many to begin with. For all I know she made only a few instead of a few dozen. She gave them as gifts to close relatives and friends. My aunt has one, and there are a few in with the family jewels, but that’s all I know of.
“In any case, without a powerful magnifying glass, you wouldn’t know a Jocasta gem if it was sitting in your hand.” Nicolas drank again from his wine. I recalled good wine as something Warvold enjoyed. It was clear his son was fond of it as well. “When I return home I’ll bring my glass so we can look at this one, or I suppose we could send Silas off to get it, since there are only letters from Ganesh to deliver this week.”
The three of them were quickly back at it again. I wondered how long it would take for my father and Ganesh to begin calling Nicolas by his last name, or if they ever would. It seemed that with them, you were a Daley, a Ganesh, a Warvold, or a Kotcher. Being called by your last name indicated you were an important adult to these men. I doubted they would ever call me anything but Alexa.
As they continued into the evening, wine flowing as freely as well-timed insults, I slinked out and went to my bedroom. I had seen my mother during the funeral, but she had stayed for only a day. My mother, much as Grayson and me, hated crowds, and this was the biggest crowd in the smallest space she or I had ever encountered. The walls had made it seem as though we were millions of ants locked in a glass jar, stepping over and crawling under one another.
I had to send her a letter — a letter I really did not look forward to writing but longed to be finished with. I dressed for bed and tidied up my room, flitting about in an effort to avoid my desk. I even reclined on my bed and started reading Warvold’s book, which I had snuck out of the library, hoping I might tire out and fall asleep. But my guilt overwhelmed me. Sitting at my desk with pen in hand, I thus began:
Dear Mother,
I do hope your trip home was not too long. I suspect you encountered more dust than either of us knew could be kicked up by carts from here to Lathbury. I’m sure you endured a long day of travel, but it feels good to know you are home safe and sound.
Things have settled down here, almost back to normal. I enjoyed dinner with Father and Ganesh and Nicolas this evening. Everyone seems taken with Nicolas and I think he will do just fine. Father is tired, working too hard again — but we are getting along well, and we find our spare moments to wander off together often enough for the both of us.
I must tell you something now that I hope you will not punish me too greatly for upon my return home, though I will deserve nothing less than a sound thrashing with a willow. I wanted desperately to see farther outside the wall on my visit than I have been able to in the past, so I took your spyglass from your drawer and brought it with me. It gets worse. Pervis Kotcher saw me using it, and he took it from me. Later, he returned it, but not before smashing the glass out.
I am sorry, Mother. I promise to work day and night until I earn enough to repair this precious item that belongs to you. I know I was wrong to take it without asking. Can you forgive me?
I’m off to bed now, lots to d
o tomorrow. Grayson says hi.
My love,
Alexa
I folded the letter, addressed it to my mother, then dripped wax on it from my candle, and applied my seal. I would give it to Silas at breakfast.
I went back to my bed and began flipping through Warvold’s old book. I felt sleepy almost immediately and placed the book under my pillow, afraid that Pervis would be lurking around my room in the middle of the night, looking through my things. Which reminded me, what did he mean when he had asked if someone had contacted me from outside the wall? It was an odd thing to say, and I rolled it over in my mind for several minutes until I drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER 8
THE FIRST JOCASTA
The next day Bridewell became empty again with the last of the visitors streaming out of the gates toward home. As I walked around, I saw Pervis and his men raising and lowering different gates, checking identifications, searching carts, and generally controlling the flow of people out of Bridewell. I had to admit, he ran a tight ship, and his men seemed more than agreeable to follow his lead.
During my morning stroll around town, I noticed Silas waiting his turn at the Lathbury gate, and I ran to his cart to greet him. I had given him my letter at breakfast, and he had been more than happy to get on the road and deliver it personally to my mother’s front gate. “Your father has a package for her as well. She will be so pleased to hear from you both,” he had said. If only he knew how unhappy my mother was sure to be after reading my letter!
I arrived at the side of his cart and looked up at him. “It looks as though you have a bit of a wait getting out of town. Six carts in front of yours and the sun is already baking the leather off your boots.”
“I’m a traveling man, Alexa — always have been. Being on my cart with Maiden and Jaz pulling me around is fine by me, no matter the weather,” said Silas.
“Try not to get those old sawhorses into any races on the way home. They might go belly-up this time and leave you stranded,” I said.
“Stop making fun of my horses!” yelled Silas. He was right; it was a careless attempt at being witty. A bad habit I had picked up from my father.
“Sorry, Silas.” I moved in front of Maiden and Jaz and patted their noses softly. “And sorry to you, too. You are grand steeds, head and shoulders above all the other horses in the Bridewell barn.” This put a smile on Silas’s face, and he gave me a wink. I liked Silas; he was my kind of mail carrier.
The gate opened and carts lurched forward. I jumped out of the way so the horses could advance, and they stumbled forward a few steps, now five carts away from being set free on the road to Lathbury. Silas had some waiting left to do, and I decided to head back to the library before my reading spot became so hot I would sooner fry an egg on my chair than sit on it.
Upon arrival, I went to see Grayson, but he was strangely absent. His office was in its normal state: half-repaired books piled up all over, various tools strewn about, a sweater half hanging, half falling off a chair. He had been in, that much was for sure, since it was he who opened the library every morning. He must have stepped into the kitchen for something to eat.
I shrugged my shoulders and walked in the direction of my chair, stopping on the way to retrieve a volume of stories and a favorite book of poetry. I also had Warvold’s book with me, which I planned to spend the better part of the morning browsing through.
Safely tucked into my chair, I had a brief moment of anxiety as I realized the possibility of another encounter with Pervis. This time Grayson was not in the library to save me. Just as I was nursing this unpleasant thought, Sam jumped up on my lap, followed a second later by Pepper. They purred and dug their heads into my chest, looking for all the scratching they could get. I kept rubbing Pepper’s belly, only to have him turn and force his head under my hand.
“Since when did you cast off belly rubs?” I said out loud. He just kept on pushing his head into my chest, and then Sam started in with the same routine. I grabbed them both by the nape and lifted them up to my face. I stared them in the eye and they each gave a single meow. Then my gaze focused down to the jeweled collars and the medallions hanging from them.
For a moment I went cold, paralyzed, as I’d been when I’d realized Warvold was dead. Meow, meow! the cats screamed. I had forgotten I was still holding them both up by the backs of their necks.
I set them both down and apologized as I tried to gain my composure. The cats sat at attention and I took their collars in my hands. The medallions were each about an inch square; one was green and one red. They were adorned with beautiful alternating patterns. Since the cats had belonged to Renny, it was certainly possible that the medallions contained Jocastas. I was beside myself with anticipation about what they might reveal, and I knew exactly where I could find what I needed to unlock the mystery of the gems.
I leaped up, quickly placing the cats on the chair and pointing my finger at them. “Don’t go anywhere, you two,” I said. “I’ll be right back.” I ran down the zigzag aisles of books toward the front of the library.
When I arrived at the door to Grayson’s office, I was overjoyed to find that he had yet to return from what I could only assume was a raid on the kitchen. I crept into his office and slid open the drawers to his desk. Grayson was more of a slob than I had imagined. The first two drawers were completely jammed with wads of paper, spines from old books, and various tools in ill repair. One drawer after another turned up the same collection of junk. The last drawer I looked in contained a half-eaten sandwich ripe from at least a week of neglect. It smelled worse than PKB (Pervis Kotcher Breath).
I slumped back in Grayson’s chair and scanned the shelves, also loaded with old books and other junk. At the end of one shelf was a wood box with a latch. The box had been untouched for some time, and the lid was covered with dust. Upon opening it, I found a number of old tools, and the one thing I had been looking for: a printer’s glass ring. It was just the thing for viewing a Jocasta. Powerful and precise, the printer’s ring was used to magnify broken type and aid in the meticulous filling in of old letters on a printed page. Grayson had long since given up the practice in favor of making the books look good on the outside. “Good riddance to fixing type,” he had told me several summers ago. “Nobody cares, and it’s making me old.”
I closed the box and was just about to place it back on the shelf when I heard the library door open. Footsteps approached as I fumbled with the box, and I almost dropped it to the floor with a bang before safely replacing it where I had found it. I pocketed the printer’s glass ring just as Grayson appeared in the doorway.
He grinned, rubbing his belly. A red, sticky-looking substance crowned his gray mustache. “I tell you, Alexa, that kitchen makes the best fresh strawberry jam anywhere. Mmmm, mmmm, I could eat it on baked rolls all day long.” From the looks of Grayson’s belly, he had been partaking of the Renny Lodge culinary delights on a frequent basis.
“You better cut back on the kitchen raids, Grayson. Your walk is turning into a waddle,” I said.
“Don’t make fun of old people, it’s in bad taste.” We both smiled as he entered the office.
“What are you doing in here, anyway?” he continued. “If you’re looking for something to eat, check that bottom right drawer. Fresh vittles from the chef.”
Under normal circumstances he would have had me fooled, but since I already knew the drawer contained a most rancid surprise, I passed on his offer and bid my farewell.
“Please be there, cats, please be there, cats,” I repeated as I walked back to my chair. I turned the corner and saw them sitting at attention, waiting for my return just as I had left them, licking their paws absently.
My hands shook as I removed the tool from my pocket and positioned myself on my knees in front of the cats. Taking Sam’s medallion in hand, I placed the printer’s glass against its face, and squinted into the device. At first it seemed like nothing more than a jumble of dots and intricate lines. Then, I focused the gl
ass ring by turning it on its dial with a tic, tic, tic. The tiny dots and lines came together to form a wave of pathways, but there was no clear beginning or end, and no indication of what their purpose was — just a scattered collection of winding trails. Could it be the streets of Bridewell, or maybe the pathways along the wall? There was a miniature sparkling mountain at the end of one dotted pathway, but that was the only clear suggestion of a place I could find. Renny really had been talented; this was an amazing piece of hidden artwork.
I raced back to Grayson’s office to borrow an ink pen and some paper, returned, and meticulously duplicated the map on a full sheet. My lower back burned with pain from stooping over, and my eyes watered from the intense scrutiny of the Jocasta. I could now understand why Grayson had given up the process of fixing broken type.
Finally happy with my depiction of the etching in the Jocasta, I placed it on the sill so the ink could dry. I stood with a creak, my back screaming as I reached for the ceiling to stretch out my crumpled body. I was finished investigating Sam’s medallion, so I got back down on my knees and hunched in front of Pepper. As I went to place the gem in my hand, Pepper violently screeched and lashed out with a bared claw, ripping a cruel scratch across the back of my hand. Wincing in pain, I scrambled back, lost my grip on the printer’s glass, and hurled it as I jerked my hand away.
I heard it hit, and the pain in my hand was nothing compared with the crashing disappointment of hearing the lens pop against the stone wall. Even worse, I heard Grayson running down the aisles of books in my direction, hollering my name over and over in a worried tone. I had only enough time to grab the printer’s glass and see that the lens was covered with a spidery crack. I struggled to my feet and pocketed the second item I had stolen in the span of only a few days that had ended up broken.
“What’s going on back here?” asked Grayson as he rounded the corner. “I haven’t heard either of these cats screech like that in years.” Then he saw my hand. “Oh, my, that’s a deep one. What did you do, pull his whiskers out?”
The Dark Hills Divide Page 4
