Bedtime Story (63 page)

The longer he spent on the cold boards, though, the less agreeable David found the arrangement.

“Not much longer now,” the magus whispered. “We’re almost across the channel.”

David wanted nothing more than to pull off the cloak covering him, to sit up and watch the crossing. That sight, of the castle dominating the sky, growing larger and larger as he approached, was one of his favourite sights in the world.

Dafyd
is
getting stronger
, David said, trying to separate himself from the memories that were crashing into his own.

It’s natural that Dafyd’s memories would be stronger about this place
, Matt said.
When you were out there in the wilderness … he had no experience of those places
.

Maybe …
David said.
But does that mean that I’m getting weaker?

The closer they drew to the castle, the less he thought about his mother and father, his house, Liam, Nolan. Instead, he found himself thinking about seeing the tavern again, his mother, Tamas. Arian.

What happens if Dafyd comes back and I just fade away, once the story ends?

Matt had no answer, and in the silence David felt crushed by his fears, the dread he had been able to push down in the headlong rush through the past few days. He reached for the lump of the amulet inside his tunic, wrapping his fingers around its comforting shape and warmth as he pulled his knees closer to his chest.

“Stay still,” the magus hissed. “We are nearing the wharf, and there are two guardsmen there.”

David pressed himself flat against the bottom of the boat as he felt it slow in the water. He could almost hear the drag of the oars.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” the magus said, his voice loud and strong.

“What business do you have at this hour, greybeard?” asked a voice, muffled to David’s ears where he huddled under the cloak and blanket.

“Is that what guards are being taught these days?” the magus said. “To show such disrespect to one of the brethren?”

“I … I was …” The voice faltered.

“He meant no disrespect, sir,” came another voice, rushed and conciliatory.

“Whether he meant it or not,” the magus said, “the disrespect was there and plain.” David could hear the anger, the threat, in the old man’s voice. “This is your first posting, is it not? Weeks out of the academy and assigned to the townside dock in the dead of night?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Would you like it to be your last?” the magus said, his tone threatening. “One word from the abbey and you’ll both be shovelling dung in the stables, alongside your captain, who has obviously taken too light a hand with your training.”

David thought suddenly of Tamas, and of how the worst punishment the magus could threaten these men with was a fact of life for his friend.

“Is that what you want?”

“No, sir,” both men snapped in crisp, martial harmony.

“Then I would suggest you keep a civil tongue, and show the proper respect.”

“Yes, sir.”

And then the boat was in motion again, sliding silently through the water.

“We’re almost through the outer wall,” the magus muttered. To anyone still watching, he would have seemed to be talking to himself.

David waited until the boat came to a stop and swayed under him as the magus stepped out. The scrape of a rope. The shudder as the boat bounced against a rock wall.

A moment later, the magus spoke. “There’s a door on the far side of the wharf …”

David was already in motion, throwing off the cloak and blanket and clambering out of the boat, shuffling across the wharf, keeping low.
He waited silently in the darkened entry of the tunnel to the streets above as the magus slowly and calmly reached into the boat for his cloak, and spent several too-long moments fixing it around himself. The wharves—a huge, cavelike room of arched stone, lit with a multitude of torches and crowded with small boats rocking gently on the water—were empty, but David was keenly attuned to the silence, fearful of the sound of steps or voices.

The magus reached into the boat again for the book, straightening his robes as if he had not a care in the world, before ambling casually toward the doorway where David waited.

“I wanted to be sure that we don’t have any eyes upon us,” he explained as they started down the stone corridor, his voice pitched low.

“The guardsmen, you mean?”

“Them. Someone else. Who knows? Better to be safe.”

They hurried upward through the tunnels that ran from the wharves to the city above. It was a maze, but David—Dafyd—knew the way. As they rounded each corner, he reflexively lowered his head in case there was someone there.

As they neared the street level, they started to pass other people in the corridors. He recognized the fat, stumbling butcher, his face florid and his eyes glazed with drink, his hand wandering freely on the body of a girl Dafyd had seen in the tavern on numerous occasions.

“Good evening,” the magus said as they passed in the narrow tunnel.

The butcher grunted.

“I would guess that they had spent the evening at your mother’s,” the magus said, once the couple was out of earshot.

“Just another night at the Mermaid,” David said, realizing that he had no idea what night of the week it was.

“Which means we must be getting close.”

And sure enough, the next turning brought them to a doorway opening onto a narrow street not far from the tavern. The air was cool and smelled of smoke and the sea, garbage and people. David felt his heart leap in his chest.

Dafyd’s heart. Dafyd’s chest.

Cat Took was waiting for me outside the restaurant. I wouldn’t have known it was her, but she was holding a copy of
Shining Swords and Steel
against her chest. For some reason, I wasn’t expecting her to be quite so young. Or attractive.

I extended my hand as I stepped toward her. “Cat Took?”

She smiled and shook my hand. “Christopher Knox.”

“Sorry about … this,” I said, trying to gesture at myself, aware of the choppy, broken quality of my voice. I had run the last couple of blocks. “We were taking … a walk on the beach … and time got away from us.”

“That’s all right,” she said, smiling warmly. “You’re on vacation. You shouldn’t have to rush around to talk about old books, of all things.” She glanced leadingly at the door.

“Of course.” I held the door for her, and followed her into the restaurant.

I sat down across from her, trying to keep from looking at the silver chain that disappeared behind the V of her neckline as she sat down.

“So are you enjoying your vacation, then?” she asked, as we waited to be served. Her voice was touched with the faintest hint of an English accent.

“I am, actually,” I said. But that immediately felt wrong to say. “Well …”

The waitress arrived. I ordered a coffee and instinctively reached for my jacket pocket.

“Shit,” I muttered, before I could stop myself. No jacket.

“What?” Her smile creased into a look of concern.

“Sorry,” I said, shaking my head and feeling stupid. “I don’t have my notebook.”

“Is that a problem?” she asked, her smile returning.

“No, no. I should be fine.” Forcing a brave face, not wanting to let on just how out-of-sorts I was suddenly feeling. I carried my notebook with me everywhere—to not have it for this meeting felt like I was missing a limb.

The waitress brought our coffees, and the action of adding cream and sugar, which I normally didn’t take, helped conceal just how flustered I was feeling.

“So,” she said, and I realized that she had been watching me, her eyes green and wide. “You were going to tell me why you weren’t having a good vacation with your family.”

“Right,” I said, and in the moment it seemed that the question provided a good opening. “Well, my son’s been quite ill over the last few weeks.”

“Oh no,” she said, her face full of concern. “What is it?”

“The doctors aren’t sure. He’s been having seizures.”

“Is it epilepsy?”

I shook my head. “No. Not that we know of. He’s actually—” I was surprised at how hard it was to talk about. “He’s catatonic. He has been for several weeks now.”

“That’s terrible,” she said, leaning across the table and laying her hand over mine.

I was surprised, and had to resist the impulse to pull my hand away.

“What happened? How did it start?”

I took a sip of my coffee, bracing myself. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Me?” she said, touching her chest at a point just below where the silver chain disappeared. “Why me?”

I took a deep breath. “This is going to sound crazy,” I said, wishing there were some other way to start. “But I think it might have something to do with your grandfather.”

“Lazarus?”

“David was reading one of your grandfather’s books when the first seizure hit. A book called
To the Four Directions.”

“That’s not one of my grandfather’s books.”

I nodded. “That’s why I got in touch with you, asking if you knew of any other books that Lazarus had written.”

“But he didn’t.”

“I’m pretty sure he did,” I said, as calmly as I could. “I haven’t been able to find anything in any of the databases or online, but it reads like your grandfather’s writing.”

“You read it?”

I nodded. “I think your grandfather wrote it after he left England, and had it published here in a very limited edition. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if there was only a single copy ever printed.”

“But what does that have to do with your son’s … condition?”

“I think …” I shifted in my seat: this wasn’t going to give me a whole lot of credibility. “I think there’s a spell on the book,” I said, watching her face drop. “I think the book was designed as a trap. A way of … capturing its readers.”

“But you read it.”

“Yeah.”

“And nothing happened to you.”

I stopped myself for a moment, not sure how much I should tell her, how much detail she would be able to stand before she thought I was completely crazy. Finally, though, I decided it was best to tell her everything.

“No,” I said. “I think that’s how the spell was designed. Most people, reading it, wouldn’t be affected at all. But some—boys, boys of a certain age—meet the criteria and …” I lifted my hand helplessly.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully, and spent a long moment stirring her coffee.

“It sounds like you’ve done a lot of research on this, Chris,” she said finally. “And maybe had some help. Unless you’re familiar with magic yourself.”

“No, no,” I said quickly. “Just what I read in books. I met some people in Victoria who were able to help me figure all this out.”

I was amazed at how calmly she was taking this all in.

“You don’t seem too surprised to hear this,” I said. “I thought you’d call me crazy.”

“No, I don’t think you’re crazy,” she said, and it felt like a weight was suddenly lifted from me. “I’m not under any illusions about my grandfather, Chris. I know what he was interested in, the type of magic that he worked with. Judging from some of the things I’ve seen in the archives, no, I don’t think you’re crazy at all.”

My first thought was of the stacks of boxes in the small office at the Hunter Barlow library, but then I recalled her mentioning papers she had at her house.

“There’s stuff … material … like this in Lazarus’s papers?” I asked, hope rising within me.

She nodded. “A lot of it. I haven’t been able to get through most of it, to be perfectly honest. It doesn’t make a great deal of sense to me. But there’s lots of magical stuff in there. It looks like that’s what he focused on after he left England. That’s why I was so surprised to hear that you had a book from him that I hadn’t seen: I didn’t think he was doing any writing at that time. But if it was for a spell …” She shrugged. “Wait—is this the book you mentioned on the phone? When you asked me about the editor from New York?”

I nodded.

“So you don’t have it?”

I deflated. The fact that I didn’t have the book was my whole reason for meeting with her, but hearing it confirmed in her voice was hard.

“No, I don’t have it,” I said. “That’s actually why I wanted to meet with you.” As her eyebrows lifted, I told her about Tony Markus: about how my attempt to get information on Took had only served to stoke his interest in the book; about how I suspected him of engineering its theft, in hope of her allowing him to publish it. “I thought you would have heard from him by now.”

“Well, he did call me a few days ago, wondering if he could talk to me while he was in Oregon, but I had no idea.” She looked at me with a directness that I could almost feel. “So what can I do?” she asked. “What do you want me to say when he calls?”

There was a warmth and resolve in her eyes that made me glad that she was on my side.