Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web - Volume 1 (11 page)

“I understand.”

Ned Adams set his glass down and drifted through the talkative crowd. Farnsworth watched him depart, devouring the rest of his bread with inexpressive bliss.

Katherine Durant entered the busy kitchen carrying two empty bowls and a platter, depositing them near the sink for Lewis Ames to wash. Her hair fell limply in the humid air and her feet were stone heavy. Lewis was up to his elbows in soapy water and eyed Katherine with an infatuated grin.

“I hope I don’t come off sounding crude or impolite, Katherine, but...”

She tried not to smirk or sound haughty. “Yes, Lewis?”

He scratched his forehead, leaving a line of soap suds above his eyebrow. “I was wondering if... Well, seeing that Nicholas won’t be accompanying you to the dance the day after tomorrow, do you think that–?” Katherine sighed and slumped her shoulders as Lewis spoke. He immediately knew her answer. “Oh, I see.”

She was about to enter the pantry, then turned to Lewis. “That’s a very sweet offer, and thank you. But to tell the truth, I just don’t feel much like celebrating the Festival after what happened to Nicholas tonight. And I particularly don’t feel like dancing. I’d go home now except that I promised Amanda to stay and help.”

“I understand. I shouldn’t have asked.” Lewis went back to scrubbing a large copper pot.

She managed to smile and patted him on the shoulder. “I’m going to find something to eat and go outside for a few minutes. I need a break.”

“Okay.”

Katherine walked into the pantry and stared at the ice boxes, realizing she wasn’t quite that hungry. All she really wanted was some time alone away from the boisterous guests. Anxiety about Nicholas’ situation jumbled her emotions. She had no idea where he was, and listening to the assorted rumors at the party, she wondered if he would ever return to Kanesbury. Until she had a chance to speak with Maynard Kurtz or Constable Brindle, she knew her mind could not rest.

“
Down here
,” a voice whispered.

Katherine spun around and looked into the kitchen through the doorway. The staff went methodically about its business, cooking, preparing and washing in the synchronous perfection which Amanda Stewart demanded. She shrugged the voice off to her imagination and prepared to leave, but it called out once more and she turned around.

“
Downstairs
.
In the ice cellar
.”

The door to the ice cellar was slightly ajar. Katherine cautiously opened it, allowing light from the pantry to fall upon a dark figure sitting a few steps below. A finger was placed over its lips, indicating for her to be quiet.

Katherine’s spirit rose as she mouthed Nicholas’ name. She grabbed a candle from a nearby shelf, lit it from a burning oil lamp, and then descended the stairs into the ice cellar with Nicholas leading the way. They took refuge in a far corner near a stack of ice chunks covered in straw.

“What are you doing here, Nicholas? How’d you get away? I’ve heard so many rumors tonight, I don’t know who or what to believe.” Katherine wedged the candle between two squares of ice and hugged him, feeling protected by the cold shadows surrounding them. “I’m so glad you’re all right. Or are you? Are you safe? What’s going to happen? Can I help?”

“Calm down,” Nicholas said, grinning for the first time in many lonely hours. “You’re chattering like a squirrel.”

“Sorry, but I’m so relieved to see you.” Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight. “How long have you been hiding here?”

“About an hour. After I ran away from Constable Brindle, I stayed in the woods along the river and followed it nearly to your Uncle Otto’s house on the other side of the village. But not knowing what to do next, I circled back this way and slipped in through the cellar door behind the house. I figured with all the people here, news of what happened tonight should be plentiful. I was hoping to see you, explain my side of the story and get some information.” Nicholas rubbed his arms for warmth. “What I’d give to be upstairs by a fireplace.”

“Let me sneak a bite down for you to eat. That’ll warm you up. Then you can tell me what’s going on. The gossip around town is as thick as summer flies.”

“I wish I knew what was going on, Katherine.” The candle illuminated the despair etched upon his face. “I haven’t a clue.”

Katherine hurried upstairs and hastily threw together a turkey sandwich which she brought to Nicholas along with an apple and a cup of Harvest berry punch. They sat on the floor. “You probably think there’s no reason to celebrate, but the punch is especially good this year. It’ll give you energy.”

“I do feel drained.” Nicholas attacked his sandwich and washed it down with some punch. His head cleared and he felt calm and secure with Katherine by his side.

“So what happened?” she asked. “Tell me about the robbery.”

“Apparently I’m a thief,” he said sarcastically. “The shed in back of my cottage was filled with sacks of flour and a small pouch of money, all of it stolen from Ned’s gristmill. And I’m the one they’re blaming.” He took another bite of the sandwich. “Of course, if I didn’t know I was innocent, I’d think I was guilty myself. The evidence looked very incriminating.”

“You have no idea how those items ended up there?”

“No. But they must have been placed there no more than three days ago. That’s the last time I recall going into the shed. Most of the things I need to work on the farm are in Maynard’s barn.”

“Maynard had no knowledge of this either?”

“He was as stunned as I was,” Nicholas said. “I thought of going back to his house, but I’m sure Clay or his men are waiting there for me. I don’t know what to do.”

“Well don’t think about turning yourself in, Nicholas. You’re not guilty and you’d be forced to sit in one of the constable’s cells until he gets to the bottom of this mess.” Katherine raised an eyebrow. “
If
he gets to the bottom. I like Clay Brindle, but he does take his time about some matters. Why did they suspect you?”

Nicholas polished off the remainder of the sandwich and punch, wiping his mouth with a coat sleeve. “It was that spindly Arthur Weeks. He accused me of going back to the mill at night while he was cleaning up.” His face tightened. “Arthur said I ordered him to go home because I needed to finish the bookkeeping. He places me at the mill alone at night, insinuating that I was the likely suspect. Said it right to the constable’s face. I’d like to grab a handful of that liar’s greasy black hair and sail him right off a cliff!”

Katherine grinned. “That’s quite an image.”

“I’m serious, Katherine.” But he couldn’t keep a straight face either and laughed softly with her.

“Not too loud, Nicholas. Someone might hear us.”

“With that racket upstairs? I doubt it.” He bit the apple and thought for a moment. “There’s still something I can’t figure out. Constable Brindle said he found a button from my coat on the floor near one of the orders that had been broken into.” He showed Katherine the spot on his jacket where the button once had been. “Though it definitely is my button, I have no idea how it got there.”

Katherine looked reassuringly at her friend. “Someone’s behind it, Nicholas. But if you can’t figure it out now, the constable or Maynard eventually will. Give them time.”

“I suppose I have to.” He raised a questioning eye. “Do you think I’m doing the right thing? Running away like this? Maybe I should turn myself in until they discover the truth. Part of me feels like a coward for hiding out.”

“You’re feeling conflicting emotions right now, Nicholas. I can’t tell you what to do, but I’ll support whatever decision you make.” She stood. “But take a day to think about it first. A good night’s sleep will clear your mind. Decide in the morning.”

“That’s assuming I get any sleep. Maybe I’ll sneak back to Maynard’s place in a few hours. I don’t think Clay or his men will keep watch all night. I could get a few hours of rest in the barn.”

Katherine patted his shoulder. “I have to go back upstairs. Stay as long as you like. All the ice boxes are filled, so no one should be back down here tonight. I’ll bring you more food before you leave.”

“Thanks, Katherine.” He tried to smile. “I guess this throws our dance plans right down the well.”

“We’d draw a lot of attention arriving at the pavilion arm in arm, wouldn’t we?”

Nicholas nodded with a smile, trying to make light of the situation. But inside he was churning with bitterness and confusion. His plans of the last few days were crumbling to bits before his eyes and he knew of no way to stop it.

CHAPTER 6

A Thief in the Night

Night deepened as the skies clouded over several hours later. Jagga hid in a grove of maple trees across the road from Dooley Kramer’s house. A short time earlier, the Enâri creature had accosted an inebriated local as he wandered along a deserted street, demanding the location of Dooley’s home in exchange for his life. Now, Jagga patiently waited for the right moment to strike, planning to sneak into Dooley’s house, surprise him and grab the key. A man with a mop of tangled, dirty blond hair had entered the house a short while ago. Jagga assumed that he was Dooley and waited. A dull light glowed behind two shuttered windows. The street lay deathly quiet. Jagga held his ground a few more minutes to make sure no one else was around. When he was about to dash across the road, he noticed a tall thin man swishing through the leaves and heading directly for the house. Jagga growled under his breath as the man knocked on the door. A moment later Dooley answered and let him inside, so Jagga waited impatiently and observed.

Moments later the front door reopened. “Wait for me inside,” Dooley said over his shoulder as he exited his house. “It’ll be easier if I talk to Zachary myself.”

A voice called from within. “But maybe I should–”

“Arthur, let me handle this!” Dooley slammed the door shut, and with an oil lamp in hand, trudged up the road to Zachary Farnsworth’s house. Jagga’s watchful eyes followed him for a moment before the Enâr stealthily tracked him from along the edge of the woods.

Dooley stepped onto the front porch. After a tentative knock, the door flew open. The lamp light illuminated Farnsworth’s twisted face. He grabbed Dooley’s arm and hauled him inside, slamming the door shut. Jagga watched curiously from the trees and then hurried around to the side of the house where he spotted an open window. He clearly heard the voices of two men inside and squatted beneath the window to listen.

“Where is it?” Farnsworth shouted. “I know you took it, Dooley! Tell me before I bust your head open!”

Dooley whimpered like a dog. “So I took it, okay? I came back here after you went to the party and found it.”

“You
found
it? Why, you broke into my house, you little rat!”

“The key was mine! I want to decide when we hand it over.
If
we hand it over.”

Farnsworth held his seething temper in check. “If I don’t have that key in my hand
when Caldurian arrives tomorrow night, we’ll both be finished. That was part of the deal. Do you understand what I’m saying, Dooley?”

“I never agreed to any of this. You talked to that wizard behind my back.”

“Are you dense?”

“Don’t talk to me like that! Maybe
you’re
dense. I say we keep the key until after we get everything we want. Consider it insurance.”

There was a crash of glass as Farnsworth flung aside a decanter of wine with his arm. “See how upset you’ve made me, Dooley. Now where is that key?”

“Back at my house where it belongs, and you’re not touching it. I’m tired of you always stepping on me. It’s always your way, your idea. Well, enough, Zachary! Things haven’t gone so smooth with you in charge,” he spouted, his voice quavering. “You still got that old lady locked in your cellar which is a crimp in our plans if ever there was one. And Arthur Weeks is at my house this very minute demanding to get paid for his part. That’s why I’m here. He wants his money!”

“Tell that beanpole he’ll have to wait a while longer. He’ll be paid by the end of the week.”

“He’d better. If you cross him, Arthur says he’ll go straight to Clay Brindle and tell him how he lied about Nicholas. Then we’ll all be sitting in the lockup. And that key you’re harping about won’t get us out of there!”

“You’re an annoying pest if there ever was one!” Farnsworth lashed out. “Why couldn’t you just leave matters in my hands?”

As Farnsworth continued his tirade against Dooley, Jagga decided he had heard enough from outside the window. Having discovered the location of the key, he quietly slipped away from the house as the two men argued on and scurried back down the road to Dooley’s residence, determined to secure his freedom.

Jagga stealthily approached and peered inside Dooley’s kitchen window. There at a table, jittery and white as a ghost, sat Arthur Weeks, mumbling to himself as he drummed his fingers on the table top. An oil lamp and a few lit candles illuminated the room. Jagga stepped aside, his back to the house, and glanced up through the trees to consider his options. There wouldn’t be much time to act since Dooley might return at any moment, possibly with Farnsworth in tow. He clenched his fists and walked to the front door.

He turned the knob and quietly entered. The glow of light from the kitchen was visible in the darkened hallway. Jagga took each step carefully, conscious of the tiniest squeak in the pine floorboards. He was used to living in caves and woods and among open spaces. The confined living quarters of men seemed stifling and prison-like. Suddenly his knee slammed into a small table hidden in the shadows, sending a slew of objects clattering to the floor.

“Is that you, Dooley?” Arthur called from the kitchen.

Jagga stood still, the element of surprise now gone. He wondered if he should bolt. A light from the kitchen grew brighter as Arthur approached carrying an oil lamp.

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. Was Zachary reasonable about my demand?” He held up the lamp and the light hit Jagga’s stony, scarred face. “He’d better be or–” Arthur’s jaw dropped when confronting the vacant stare of the short, burly Enâr bathed in the sickly light. He stood frozen, the lamp shaking in his extended arm. “
Oh
...” Arthur Weeks swallowed hard. “You’re not Dooley,” he nervously said as if trying to mollify a snarling dog blocking his path. “You should leave.” Arthur flinched as Jagga glared at him, his heart pounding as the stranger stepped forward. “Or I could leave.”

Arthur suddenly pivoted on his heel and ran back to the kitchen as Jagga pursued in a flash. He screamed as the Enâr trapped him in the room and lunged at him. A crash of plates and the overturning of wooden chairs ensued as the two fought. The candles extinguished one by one as they were knocked down.

“Where’s the key?” Jagga demanded when he grabbed Arthur by the collar.

“Let me go! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Arthur Weeks struggled like a fish on a hook and then slammed a fist into Jagga’s ear, causing him to release his hold. Arthur dove under the table to the other side of the room. “What are you?”

Jagga howled in pain as he got to his feet, holding the sore side of his head while sending a chair crashing into the wall with his free hand. Arthur made a move toward the doorway, but the Enâr blocked his way, trapping him in a corner.

“Tell me where the key is! I know you’re in league with the other two. Tell me!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! I don’t know anything about a key!”

“I think you do.” Jagga grasped an object he spied on a countertop and slowly approached a terrified Arthur Weeks.

“Stay away!” he said. “Whatever you’re looking for, I don’t have it. Dooley Kramer lives here, not me.” His face perspired profusely. The long black locks on the side of his head stuck to his cheeks like wet grass clippings. Arthur pressed his body against the wall in a futile effort to break it down as he watched the Enâr step closer. “Please stay away...” The wildly fluttering flame inside the oil lamp softly reflected off the metal knife Jagga clutched in his hand.

“I’m not leaving without that key,” he muttered as he closed in on his target. “And I’m going to find it, one way or another.”

Dooley sauntered back to his house twenty minutes later through a swirl of autumn leaves. He had survived his confrontation with Farnsworth who reluctantly agreed to let him hold onto the key for the time being. He also promised to pay off Arthur Weeks within two days. Dooley breathed in the vigorous night air, feeling full of himself for having stood up to Farnsworth. He had plans to go places and to make his mark in the village, too, and tonight went a long way toward boosting his confidence. He could only imagine better things to come.

Then he turned the knob on the front door. The light from his oil lamp illuminated the hallway. Dooley scowled when noticing the hall stand knocked over and a bevy of items strewn across the floor. He scratched his head.

“Arthur! What’d you do while I was away? Clean up this mess.” He gently moved a few things aside with the toe of his boot. “I leave for a few minutes and look what happens,” he muttered. “Arthur, get out here!”

Disturbing silence filled the rooms. Dooley looked up, raising his lamp which cast flickering shadows. “Arthur?” He stepped over the spilled items and headed to the kitchen. “You still here?”

He poked his head into the room and his chest tightened. The kitchen had been torn apart. The table and chairs overturned. One window smashed. Dishes and food canisters thrown across the floor. Arthur’s oil lamp sat on a counter beneath a cupboard that had been ransacked, its doors wide open. Dooley shuddered and raced across the room, desperately searching for a wooden salt box he had stored in that cupboard. It was gone. He surveyed the floor and then spotted the salt box which had been thrown against the wall to his left. The hinged lid was open and a spray of salt dusted the floor. He grabbed the box but already knew the worst in his heart. Farnsworth would kill him for sure. This couldn’t be happening. Someone had stolen the key from its hiding place.

“I’m dead!” he whispered as he got to his feet. “Dead.”

Dooley’s hand trembled as he tried to hold the lamp steady. His exhilaration of just minutes ago came crashing down, leaving a knot in the pit of his stomach. He stepped back, shaking his head. How could he fix this? He then bumped into an overturned chair, spun around and saw him. Sprawled on the floor behind the table lay Arthur Weeks, his eyes open as he gazed up at the ceiling, dead to the world. His body had been hidden from view when Dooley first entered the room. He stared at him for several minutes, unable to take his eyes off the knife wound in Arthur’s chest.

Dooley cautiously knelt on one knee by the body, gently holding the oil lamp near Arthur’s face. He prodded the corpse’s arm with a finger to make certain he was dead before turning away and taking a deep breath. The scent of blood sickened him. He got to his feet and stumbled around the kitchen wreckage, holding his head and mumbling.

“Who did this, Arthur? Who did this? I need that key back!” Dooley kicked a metal canister across the room and glared at the dead body again. “Who did this to you, Arthur? Tell me! I need to find that key or Farnsworth will kill me next!”

Arthur kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling as Dooley rambled about, whimpering and cursing his bad luck. All seemed lost. His plans were decaying and either Farnsworth, Caldurian or Constable Brindle would make him regret this day for the rest of his life. There was little he could do to salvage the situation though he tried to think of something as he ran around like a madman. He howled at his ill fortune, kicking the walls and punching the air with his fist. In a spasm of rage he ran out of the house screaming, not even aware of the words he was shouting.

“Murder!” he screamed into the night, twirling in circles on the road, sending up a shower of leaves that glowed in the light from the lamp he still clutched in his hand. “Murder! Murder! There’s a killer loose in Kanesbury!”

Farnsworth soon came running down the road toward Dooley’s house with a glowing lamp in hand, stunned at the sight of his crazed neighbor in convulsive fits in the road.

“What’s the matter with you, Dooley? It’s the middle of the night!”

“Someone help!” he cried, unaware of Farnsworth’s presence.

Farnsworth yanked him by the arm, snapping his body to a sudden halt. “Shut up, you fool! What’s going on?”

He stared at Farnsworth with a vacant expression. “It wasn’t my fault, Zachary. It wasn’t. I didn’t steal it, and I certainly didn’t kill him. I didn’t!”

“What are you jabbering about? Are you drunk?”

“No, but I will be before the sun rises!” Dooley suddenly broke down in a fit of laughter, dropping his oil lamp. He bent over, his hands on his knees, laughing uncontrollably until he started coughing and sobbing. “Arthur’s dead!” he said. “He’s lying on my kitchen floor and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“
Dead
?
How
?”

“Someone killed him,” he said, pointing to the house.

Farnsworth dashed inside for a look and felt his blood turn cold. He had never seen a murdered man and the sight sickened him. He returned to the street and saw Dooley sitting in the middle of the road. Before he could say anything, he paused to listen. Voices approached from the main section of the village.

“People are coming, Dooley! Quick! Tell me what happened.”

Dooley looked up and sighed. “The key is gone. Whoever did this stole it.”

“
What
? Besides Caldurian, who else knew we had it? Did you tell anyone?”