By Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
Chapter Eighteen "We Have Your Children"
The search immediately around the house had proved fruitless. Dar was not sleeping in any bushes, nor splashing in the stream, nor sitting playing with the moonlight, as he had liked to do at home. That was the bad news. The good news was that he wasn't lying in a ditch, having tripped over some outcropping of roots in the dark. And he wasn't floating face up in the water. No cars had gone by the house in the last few minutes, so he hadn't been whisked away in some twisted stranger's backseat. After circling as wide as they reasonably could in a short time, everyone gathered back outside the kitchen door. It was midnight, no one was speaking, and all they could hear was the whisper of the Mickleswift as it began its increasingly fast descent toward the well.
"Well, we canna let this go til daylight. We mun phone the police, I'm thinkin'," said Burrbuckle, expressing what everyone had been thinking.
"Yes. That would seen to be the only thing," agreed Granny Pansy. "They have men and dogs that can conduct a proper search. The only thing is that they'll begin to conduct an investigation of what has been going on inside the house as well."
"And that'll reveal that we're a couple of witches with an ungodly number of bizarre objects and purple walls and a kitchen that looks more like Dunkirk after the Nazis got through with it than the cozy home it appears to be from the outside," concluded Great Uncle Charlie.
"Our goose is cooked," said Burrbuckle, who had no excess of love for the police after the recent run-ins between them and the dockworkers. The latest clash had resulted in the death of one worker, a Tilly Lingersall. Barnabas had known him, and had planned to go to the wake the next day, less than sixteen hours from now.
"Cooked, poached, fried, diced, and sliced," confirmed Great Uncle Charlie. "None of the friends Doris and I have contacted will be here before tomorrow evening at the soonest. They're all traveling good distances to get here."
"Blessed be," mused Granny Pansy. "Who can we turn to?"
"I don't know. I don't know," said Great Uncle Charlie, shaking his shaggy head. "Our one stroke of luck seems to be that at least its gotten a bit warmer outside, and Dar was wearing insulated feety pajamas."
There was silence, the stream running quickly on. Abbey stood beside Barnabas, crying quietly in the moonlight. Barnabas looked down at her. He hoped that Great Uncle Charlie's words made her feel a little bit better, but Barnabas knew what a sudden warmth in the night air really meant. Storms would be coming that would destroy all evidence of small feet passing, and wash away any scent a dog might follow. Barnabas looked over at Granny Pansy. She seemed to share his knowledge. Abbey put her arm around the big man's leg and held on. Barnabas touched the top of her head with the callused tips of his fingers. She was so small, his hand covered her entire head easily.
He felt Abbey begin to sob. Barnabas Burrbuckle couldn't stand it.
"I've an idea, ma'am," he began. "If its all right."
"Yes, Barnabas," said Granny Pansy. "Its all right. Its more than all right. Please tell us your idea. We've run clean out."
"Well, there's a lot of dockworkers sitting up the night vigil with Tilly's body. Thet's just a few houses down the street that way. And I imagine that any o' the fellas would just jump to pitch in. And they can keep a secret right enough--especially from the coppers. In a few hours the whole hillside here could be rowdy with dockmates who've no ship work to go to."
"Barnabas, that's brilliant!" buzzed Great Uncle Charles. "What do you say, Doris?"
"Hmm. The dockmen have been acting erratically lately. But, with the gods away, perhaps they'll be more in their right senses. and we certainly could use their eyes and ears in these woods."
"Let's get to it," Great Uncle Charlie said, with a briskness that belied his age. "Which way did you say this dead fellow Tilly's house was?"
* * * *
Sarah had her bag packed, and was leaving the house through the front door when she heard Barnabas and her Great Uncle Charlie talking as they strode around the side of the house, headed for Tilly's place. Sarah backed into an evergreen bush, the leaves spearing her mercilessly, but also allowing her to go unnoticed as she watched Barnabas and her Great Uncle go by. She wasn't sure where they were headed, but she knew just where she was headed.
All of this turmoil was because of her. Her Granny Pansy's silence on the topic of the shadow-Sarah confirmed it. She was some kind of target, and everything near her would be obliterated just to get to her. When Gilman died in that far away desert, the shell that had killed him had killed three of his closest buddies as well. Sarah wasn't going to let that happen to her family. She may not always like all of them, but she loved them. Her distractedness and inattention had already gotten Dar lost, and Missy's memory erased. Missy had no idea of what had happened in that basement. Even Bart didn't deserve that rock in eye; someone, or some thing, Sarah thought queasily, had put him up to the task of stopping her in the woods the other day. He had picked that fight at some other power's behest. Who would be the next to suffer because they were too close to Sarah?
Their heavy steps crunched down the roadway.
"We mun hurry," came Burrbuckle's worried rumbling voice from the far side of the hedge.
"Yes, man, we must. I'm moving my bones as fast as I may," came Great Uncle Charlie's response, and his lighter footsteps picked up their pace after the long firm strides of Burrbuckle. "How many men do you think we can get to join the search for Dar?"
"There's a dozen at the wake, I've little doubt. They're not the hell-raisers that've been rambling about. Sturdy men all, by my reckonin'."
"Good, good," acknowledged Great Uncle Charlie, who seemed to be doing some obscure calculation in his head as he walked, or rather, almost ran after Burrbuckle. "The witch's contingent will be here early tomorrow. If we are able to gather enough men tonight, then they'll be free to cast some wide-eye spells and spotlight projections to help narrow the target area. I do hope the Gods of Autumn find plenty of distraction in the North Country. Tell me, is there a phone booth on our route? I may need to make a few phone calls."
In another moment, their voices and their footsteps had faded out. Sarah couldn't make much of Burrbuckle's reply other than its bass rumble. Now Sarah must avoid the search party of dockworkers that was being gathered. How could she run faster than a dozen full-grown men? She had an idea. There's one place none of them'll go, she thought.
Sarah listened for another minute in the bushes, and heard the back door slam shut as Granny Pansy and the others re-entered the house. She slipped out from behind the bushes by the front door, a white glimmer in the moon clutching a small suitcase, her head wrapped in one of Granny Pansy's headscarves to keep the hair out of her eyes. Sarah looked an odd traveler, a young girl alone at night, hunched over as she left her hiding place, her dirty skirt still on, her patent leather school shoes, and the cardboard hand-me-down suitcase that had some of Gilman's Army stickers on it. The last time she had used it was for band camp, and that was two summers ago. Her face was neither worried nor sleepy, but thoughtful and determined. She knew just what she had to do.
* * * *
"So, tell me about this Tilly Lingersall, Burrbuckle."
Great Uncle Charlie was enjoying the moonlight stroll. It had been years since he'd spent a night out-of-doors, and some of the devil-may-care feeling of his youth was coming back to him, despite the direness of the occasion. Burrbuckle glanced down behind him without breaking his stride, and a sorrowful look came over his face which Great Uncle Charlie, because he was trailing behind, could not see.
"Well, if its to be the story of a man, it must be a long story," began Barnabas. "There's no quick way to know ourselves, is the true saying. And knowin' others is more tricky then that." Barnabas flipped up the collar of his jacket against the coolness of the evening, which was really rather warm for the season, and pulled his cap down over his eyes before going on. The shiver that ran through his great frame briefly seemed to come more from some inner dread than from the weather.
"Tilly Lingersall was a good enough man, as 'tis reckoned," he said. "He grew up in Traeshurstaene the same as all o' us. There was nary a time I recall his cheatin' at the games we played, although he weren't no persnickety feller either. When the day came to sign up for work, he did so without regrets or illusions. Many a one of us had both. Some thought they'd get to be a big man on the docks, bossin' and shoutin' out orders as the ships hoved in to unload, or maneuvered round the rocky point. Most of us hated to leave our summer games, or even the work we did around our families' houses and farms--for that work was like work and playin' both. But signin' up for the job was work indeed and no mistake. There's a deal of danger in the singing lines that cast off from a freighter. And not a year passes by but some sturdy Joe or Thomas gets cracked between twa hulls as the sea settles the ships. Ye crawl like an ant on the water, and like an ant ye can drown. Our days of childish enjoyment were shut like the paybook gets shut at the end of payday." Barnabas paused thoughtfully, as though a vision of his own life, past and future shone clearly before him--complete in its simplicity. All the rest of my days will be the same, he thought to himself silently.
"But this Lingersall was different, you say," prompted Great Uncle Charlie. He sounded as curious as a horticulturalist who discovers a new species of orchid growing from the end of his nose.
"Ay," acknowledged Burrbuckle. "Ye see, Tilly was in love wi' a surpassin' lass. That's what we all joked and called her--the surpassin' lass. She'll be at yon house too, and ye'll know as quick as lightnin' why she's so called. Tilly got his growin' up in before the rest of us. There was nothin' in his head but Pellagwin. Pellagwin this and Pellagwin that. It got to be so common that we started to refer to Tilly as the Pallagwin Pelican. He was always greedy for news of her doings. He wanted to marry he as soon as he saw her, and never had a switch in his thoughts about her. He laid down his heart the day he met her, as the sayin' does it. But thar was no way her father would let ony man marry her but thet he had a decent job and a good bit put by to boot. Pellagwin's father was not a man anxious to "scatter his treasure," as he put it. And there was mony a fine man that courted Pellagwin, and she was often about town with this one and that one. And each time she was about, it was a torture to Tilly. We didna want to tell him such tales, but he wrung them from us. For to hear of her was to live, as he said many and many a time. We didna unnerstand him rightly, but all o' us could read his honest face like tellin' how much storm or shine a cloud was carryin'."
"I see, I see" Great Uncle Charlie commented, more softly this time, as though thrown into thoughts of his own past. "Do go on."
"Tilly worked for a year and a day. He et like a mouse, drank like a nun, and lived like monk for that whole time. We all certainly missed him, and tried our best to get him to come out wi' us and howl the moon down. At least, now and then. For there was no laughter like the laughter of Tilly Lingersall's. Pure as a waterfall it'd come over his face and out from his lips, as if the world itself were pleased at its mischief. But there was no dissuading him from his chosen course. He was as set on his way as an old soldier. And when the year and a day were up, and he thought he'd done well enough, he dressed in his finest gear, lookin' as though he'd hopped from a wedding cake, to ask Pellagwin's father if he might escort his daughter on a walk that very evening. Pellagwin's father said 'nay' out of hand, as ye might dismiss a beggar tuggin' at yer sleeve. Tilly doffed his cap to the father and turned on his heel, thanking him politely for his time. But oh Tilly was in a fearsome state for the next month! There he was, richer than the lot o' us scraped together and put in a sack, and he was mooing about like a sick cow. His eyes had the look of dashed glass, and he trembled a bit whenever he spoke, as though he were a talkin' and swallowin' water at the same time. But little did he know, and the less did we, that Pellagwin had been at her bedroom winder when Tilly Lingersall came a-callin' thet afternoon. And the same lightnin' that had struck Lingersall had fallen into Pellagwin's heart as well...."
"Oh, just a moment," interrupted Great Uncle Charlie, with no decent sense of when to interrupt so tender a story. "Let me duck in here a moment. I have an urgent call to make." And, without waiting for Burrbuckle to say yea or nay, or even nod, for that matter, Great Uncle Charlie nipped into a red telephone booth standing on the corner of the lane. The little light went on inside, and Burrbuckle could see Great Uncle Charlie patting his pockets for coins futilely.
Burrbuckle heaved a long sigh, putting the love story of Tilly Lingersall out of his mind with a brusque shove, and tapped on one of the many small rectangles of glass right by Great Uncle Charlie's ear with a coin. Great Uncle Charlie started as though he'd been shot in the back, saw the coin flashing through the pane in front of his face, opened the panel door briefly, and plucked the coin from Barnabas' fingers without so much as a "Bob's your uncle." He dialed furiously and began to speak in low tones as though his conversation might be overheard by some devious third party.
* * * *
At the same time that Great Uncle Charlie was dialing in the phone booth a block from the grieving Lingersall residence, Granny Pansy was also making a phone call. To Mr Plimsoul's house.
"Do you know what time it is?" Mr. Plimsoul's groggy voice demanded.
"I know exactly what time it is, Mr. Plimsoul," said Granny Pansy in a level tone of voice. There was an edge of venom in her tone that instantly made Mr. Plimsoul wake up. He recognized his interrogator's voice as Sarah's Grandmother. His first thought was to remember that she had moved away several years ago.
"Why, Grandmother Tone," said Mr. Plimsoul smoothly, as if midnight phone calls from angry grannies were his stock and trade. "Didn't you retire to another vicinity some years ago? What a pleasant and, if I may say so, unexpected surprise to have you back in Traeshurstaene."
"I'm back," said Granny Pansy curtly. "And I want know something from you right now about the Tone children."
"My goodness," said Mr. Plimsoul, feigning alarm at Granny Pansy's impolitic directness. "Why, certainly, Grandmother Tone. I'll answer any inquiry you may have if it is within my humble power to do so." Mr. Plimsoul had been hoodwinking parents for years into thinking he cared about their children. It was second nature to him, a survival skill he had long ago acquired at cutthroat board of Ed. meetings where budget decisions and teacher layoffs were determined.
"Have you seen Sarah Tone or her little cousin Dar today?"
Mr. Plimsoul tried to read into this question. He wanted desperately to know why Grandmother Tone was asking him about her own Granddaughter. Had Missy Quicknass' forget-me-fast amnesia spell worm off somehow? Had Sarah gone running home to her Grandmother and revealed all that had been said and done to them in the basement earlier that evening? He would answer a question with a question.
"Are Sarah's parents available? They're the guardians of record with the school. Could I speak with Sarah?"
"No, their parents aren't available. They're out with this ridiculous Political Committee business trying to rouse the townspeople against the dockworkers. Going door-to-door and holding crazy rallies and plastering every telephone pole with provocative signs." Granny Pansy was getting a bit flustered. The spell, and now the fact that Sarah was missing in addition to Dar was really starting to wear down her defenses. "But don't change the subject, have you seen them? If any harm should come to those children...."
"A threat, Grandmother Tone? Now, now, that's quite unlike the domineering Doris I knew once-upon-a-time. She knew how to get results without resorting to threats. And, if the safety of the children is your paramount concern, it certainly would be foolish to provoke anyone who might have them in their power. Don't you agree, Doris?" There was a soft chuckle on the other end of the line.
Granny Pansy was flabbergasted. Mr. Plimsoul had her over a barrel good and proper. She was damned if she did, and she was damned if she didn't. Mr. Plimsoul was calling all of the shots. And, as far as Granny Pansy was concerned, that stunk.
"Well, officially, these children are lost in the woods. I'm afraid Sarah may have run away. If I had any other options.... Sarah said she was down over there earlier today. If you spoke with her, if you saw her or see her again, you absolutely must let me know immediately. She's very dangerous just now--both to herself and to others. And that includes you, Simon."
Why had she even called? Granny Pansy thought she must be losing her mind. Mr. Plimsoul and his consort would never stoop to offer the Tones' help of any kind. She should have known that better than anyone.
"If the children were here, hypothetically," Mr. Plimsoul continued. "They would be safe. They might be beyond your reach forevermore, but they would be safe. I'm sure that they would be able to be returned shortly to Sarah's parents. And perhaps, if there were a certain kind of cooperation, this Dar individual might be sent along home before that."
Granny Pansy felt impaled by her own rash actions. Why hadn't she kept a closer eye on the children? There she was hoping to put the Gods of Autumn back in their bottle, and she couldn't even maintain a minimal control over her own Grandchildren--one of whom was barely big enough to walk. Granny Pansy felt utterly defeated.
"Name your terms, Plimsoul."
END OF CHAPTER EIGHTEEN