The Prince of Neither Here Nor There (32 page)

At last, Brendan reached the end of his tale. Dmitri sat in silence, processing what he’d heard. Brendan could almost hear the cogs turning in his friend’s mind.

“So, you must find this amulet or else you will be vulnerable to those who wish to hurt you?” Dmitri asked.

“From what I understand, that’s the deal,” Brendan said. “Once I’m initiated or whatever, I’m off limits and I get certain rights. Not that she seems to respect the rules. Once I’m initiated, I get all my powers and I may be able to defend myself. At least I’ll have a fighting chance. The problem is, I have no idea where to look for this thing. It could be anywhere.”

“They say you had it when you were a baby,” Dmitri said thoughtfully. “When your real father …”

“Briach Morn,” Brendan offered.

“Him. When he dropped you off in the Human world. And only another Faerie could take it from you.”

“That’s what I understand,” Brendan agreed. He was amazed that Dmitri had just come on board this whole business. He didn’t know how he would have reacted in Dmitri’s shoes, but he doubted he would have been so calm.

Dmitri’s eyes suddenly went wide. “Oh my! I understand now.”

“What? You know what to do? Tell me!”

“No, not exactly. But it’s something about my babka. Remember the other day when you asked me about dreams and we talked about my babka?”

“Yeah,” Brendan confirmed.

Dmitri’s face coloured. “I kind of downplayed that a bit. You see, it is a bit embarrassing. She is a sort of … I don’t know the exact word. She claims to be able to see things. In Polish we call such a person a
vrooshka.
Do you know what I mean? A psycho …”

“She’s a psychic?”

“That’s it! That’s the word! People, mainly Polish people, friends of ours and other people who have heard about her, come to visit her. They bring her gifts, sometimes money, and she tries to help them by using her special sight.” Dmitri grimaced. “My father doesn’t like it. He thinks it is hopelessly old-fashioned and makes us look like ignorant peasants, but the truth is we can use the extra money.”

“Do you think she can help?”

“It’s just that for the last little while she’s been acting a bit strangely,” Dmitri explained. “Well, she’s always been acting strangely, but she’s been oddly focused in her weirdness. Last week, she insisted that my mother take her out to the hairdresser. She wanted a perm and her hair dyed.”

“That doesn’t sound weird to me.”

“She lost all of her hair about five years ago.”

“Gotcha.”

“We got her a wig and she seemed pleased. When I asked her why she needed her hair done so suddenly, she said that she had to look pretty for His Highness.” Dmitri paused to let this sink in. “She has been babbling in her sleep, too. She keeps saying things like ‘He has been hiding.’ And last night she woke up shouting, ‘He rides beneath the waves! He rides beneath the waves!’ My parents have been talking about getting her some help. They think she’s going senile but now I see that, as impossible as it seems, she was describing what was happening to you.”

Brendan thought about this for a moment. “Maybe I could ask her about this amulet. Maybe she knows where it is.”

Dmitri shrugged. “I suppose it’s worth a try.”

“I can’t wait’til morning, Dmitri,” Brendan said urgently. “Can we wake her?”

A woman’s voice called from the next room. The voice was quiet but clear and spoke in Polish. Brendan heard his name, recognizable but heavily accented.

Dmitri looked surprised as he translated. “That’s my babka. She’s awake. She says she’s been waiting for you, Prince Brendan. She wonders why we’re wasting time in the kitchen. What’s this Prince Brendan stuff?”

“I have no idea. Come on. Let’s go.”

Dmitri led Brendan through the swinging door into the sitting room. BLT flitted to Brendan’s shoulder and sat down.

“You’re getting icing all over me,” Brendan complained. BLT answered with a prolonged belch. “Nice. Can you keep it down? You’ll wake the whole house!”

“Don’t worry,” Dmitri reassured them. “It’s only me and Babka. Both my parents are working nights this week.”

The living room was absolutely full of furniture. The chairs were overstuffed and comfortable, covered with woven throw rugs of many different colours. A television sat on a shelf loaded with rows of little ornaments, painted wooden dolls, and crystal animals. A spray of framed photographs of varying sizes and ages were mounted on the wall over the heavy antique couch. Lying on the couch, cocooned in a thick comforter and with a woollen shawl draped over her bald head, was Dmitri’s grandmother or babka, as he called her. A small table lamp shed golden light on her round face.

She was obviously very old. Her face was like an advertisement for wrinkles. A thick fur of white bristles whiskered her chin, and she had a mole the size of a golf ball on her thick neck, also home to a healthy colony of thick white hairs. Despite her age, her eyes were a lively blue. When she saw Brendan, she smiled, and Brendan felt instantly at home in her presence though he’d never met her before. She had always been upstairs in bed whenever he’d visited Dmitri.

The blue eyes were riveted on Brendan as he came into the room. She stared so intently at Brendan that he had to look away.

“She asked us to move her down here yesterday,” Dmitri said. “She wanted to watch TV”

Dmitri went to her and spoke gently in Polish. She smiled and beckoned Brendan closer with one hand, heavy with rings.

“Prince Brendan,” Babka whispered softly.

Dmitri spoke in Polish to his babka and she answered him. Dmitri translated. “She says you’re a prince. The Misplaced Prince.”

Brendan suddenly remembered Og greeting him in the same way when he’d arrived at the Swan. What was that all about? BLT darted from Brendan’s shoulder and did a loop around the old woman’s head. She clapped her wrinkled hands and laughed with delight. She spoke excitedly in Polish to Dmitri, who looked in wonder at his grandmother. The old woman held out a hand, and BLT gently lit in her wrinkled palm. She cooed to the tiny Faerie in soothing tones. BLT responded by stretching out and going to sleep.

“My babka says she used to speak with the Little People, the
Chochlikach,
she calls them, when she was a little girl in Poland. They came to visit her often.”

Brendan moved closer, and when he was in reach, Babka grabbed his hand in a firm, moist grip. Suddenly, she was speaking fast in Polish, her eyes bright and her face serious.

A little disturbed, Brendan asked Dmitri, “What is she saying?”

“She says that she sees a dark future for you, but it can be changed if you find what you are seeking,” Dmitri translated. “Do you think she’s talking about the amulet?”

“Ask her if she knows where to find the amulet,” Brendan said eagerly. He waited while Dmitri posed the question. The old lady pointed out the window where the sky was greying toward dawn. “Well? What did she say?”

“She says that she can’t see it. A man has hidden what you seek. She holds his face in her mind’s eye,” Dmitri said.

Brendan knelt down beside the old woman and took her hand in his own. “Can she describe this man?” Brendan waited in an agony of impatience while the question was translated. Babka started speaking, her eyes closed as she concentrated.

Dmitri translated. “He is old. With white hair. He was tall once but now he is stooped over. He is down. No, the correct way to say it would be ‘laid low.’ He’s sick? Or hurt, maybe?”

“Can’t she be more specific?”

“She says it doesn’t work that way. She sees what she sees.”

“I wish she could give us a better description. That could describe any old man at all.”

“What can I do?” Dmitri shrugged. “It’s not easy to translate accurately.”

“I wish we had one of those guys who do those drawings for the police, you know?”

“That would be helpful,” Dmitri agreed. Suddenly, his face lit up. “But we do know someone who could do that!” He went to the phone and started dialling.

“Wait a minute! Who are you calling?”

“Harold! He could do it!”

Brendan crossed the room in two strides, plunking his finger down on the phone to cut off the call. “No!” he said quickly. “I can’t do that! It would mean that I’d have to tell him everything. It’s bad enough that I had to tell you.”

“Harold is your friend,” Dmitri whispered. “You can trust him.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust him,” Brendan said. “I don’t want to put any more people in danger. Orcadia isn’t exactly a fun person to have breathing down your neck, Dmitri.”

Dmitri frowned. “The way I see it, if you don’t find this amulet soon, you won’t survive. I know that Harold wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you. We’re your friends. You have to let us help.” Dmitri lifted Brendan’s finger off the receiver. “Besides, you don’t have to tell him what’s going on. He just has to draw the picture.”

Brendan weighed Dmitri’s argument and found that he couldn’t fault his friend’s logic. He needed to at least know what the old man looked like if he wanted to have a hope of ever finding the amulet. He looked at Dmitri and nodded. “Okay. But we don’t say anything about what’s happened to me. He just draws the picture, right?”

“Of course,” Dmitri said gleefully and dialled Harold’s cell.

Twenty minutes later, Harold was sitting on the sofa beside Dmitri’s babka, his tablet open and his charcoal in hand. He’d been awake when Dmitri had called, sitting up waiting to draw the sunrise from his back balcony. He’d ridden his bike over right away when he heard that Brendan was okay and he needed help.

The old woman had sat patiently on the sofa under her blankets while they were waiting for Harold. Her eyes glowed with excitement. She chatted quietly with BLT, giggling like a little girl.

“You speak Polish?” Brendan asked the little Faerie.

“Sure,” BLT said. “It’s a fun language, very expressive. Lots of interesting swear words.”

Brendan had insisted that BLT hide in his pocket when Harold arrived. A giant fly would probably be hard to explain.

“Brendan,” Harold said when he came into the living room. “Dude, you’re okay! I was worried. I mean, after Chester Dallaire disappeared, I thought maybe there was some kidnapping ring operating in town or something.”

At the mention of Chester, Brendan felt a cold lump of guilt in his gut. He would have to take care of that if he made it through this in one piece. “No, I’m fine. But I need your help.”

Harold listened as they detailed what they needed him to do. When asked if he could draw a composite sketch from Dmitri’s instructions, he shrugged and said, “I can try. I’ve never really done it before although I do a lot of portrait work … but that’s mostly of my mum’s friends’ pets.”

“Great!” Brendan groaned. “This will never work.”

“Let’s try,” Dmitri insisted. “Babka?”

“Tak?”
Babka asked.

So, for the next forty minutes as the sky turned from black to grey, Dmitri tried to translate his babka’s description of the man she saw in her vision. Harold went through a whole pad of sketch paper. The job wasn’t made any easier by the fact that Babka’s eyesight wasn’t the best. Each time Harold held up his work for her to critique, she would squint and shake her head. Harold would then begin again, scratching and smudging with his charcoal, trying to get the right combination of strokes that would satisfy Babka’s inner eye. Brendan and Dmitri watched over Harold’s shoulder as he worked.

Finally, Babka announced that she was satisfied. The picture was as accurate as she could make it. The old woman was obviously exhausted.

Harold held up the picture for Brendan to see. He studied the picture closely. The drawing depicted a man with craggy features. His eyes were deep set under heavy brows. The mouth was a chiselled line, and the jaw was heavy and straight.

“Does he look familiar?” Dmitri asked urgently. “Think hard.”

“There’s something,” Brendan breathed. The face did look familiar somehow. It was right at the tip of his brain, so close as to be annoying. “There’s something …” Suddenly, he had an idea. “Hey, Harold. Could you draw a hat on the guy?”

“What kind of hat?”

“One of those flat ones that old guys wear, like a squashed pancake sort of, with a brim on the front. You know what I mean?”

Harold nodded. “I think so.” He sketched a few lines on the drawing, superimposing a flat herringbone cap on the man’s head.

Brendan’s eyes lit up. He turned to Dmitri. “When we first asked her about the guy, what did she say? He’d fallen?”

“She saw him falling and hitting his head.”

He’d seen someone fall and hit his head. Just the day before yesterday, the old man had been hit by the bike courier. “It’s Finbar!” he said softly.

The old woman squeezed his hand and beamed.
“Tak! Tak!
Finbar!
To on!”

“Yes! Yes! Finbar! That’s it!” Dmitri said excitedly.

“Couldn’t she have just told me his name in the first place?” Brendan said, exasperated.

The woman spoke and Dmitri translated. “She says she didn’t have it until you spoke it. Now she knows that it’s right.”

Harold interjected. “You sound like you know the guy. Do you know where he is?”

Brendan nodded, his heart sinking. “The last time I saw him, he was on his way to Western General Hospital.”

FINBAR

“Listen, why don’t you guys just go home?”

They were approaching the front of the hospital. The sun was higher now, but it gave no heat. Dmitri had thought far enough ahead to tell Harold to bring an extra jacket for Brendan. “I don’t want to drag anybody else into this. It’s too dangerous.”

“You still haven’t told me anything,” Harold complained. “Why do you need to find this guy? Who’s after you? Why don’t you just go to the cops or call your mum and dad?”

“I can’t call anyone,” Brendan said. “It’s complicated.”

“
A
hand,” Brendan sighed. “Not
the
hand.” Brendan looked at the faces of Harold and Dmitri. He had to be honest. He was relieved that he wasn’t alone. “Thanks for the coat, Harold.”

“No problem,” Harold said. “Just don’t wreck it.”

Brendan almost laughed. Wrecking Harold’s coat seemed like the least of his worries right now.