The Case of the Spellbound Child Read online

  Suki alternated her time between having her head out the window and playing with the birds. She had conceived of the idea of “teaching” them some of the same tricks that dogs performed, and fortunately the birds thought this idea was highly amusing as well. The birds could and would do anything on the first command; the real question was how to adapt dog commands to them. “Beg” was easy enough; both birds could say “Pleeeeeease,” in the most plaintive of tones. “Shake hands” was not difficult, and neither was “wave.” “Sit” provided some challenges, until Neville solved the problem by squatting down as if he were in a nest. “Lie down” was obviously lie on the back. “Play dead” was to lie on the back with the head and neck stretched out and the feet tucked up against the body. Both birds thought “Roll over” was hilarious good fun. Nan finally got involved by teaching them both something Suki couldn’t do because her hands were too small: balancing first Grey, then the much larger Neville, in a kind of headstand on the palm of her hand, where their heads were in her palm and her fingers supported their bodies in the headstand.

  Not that the countryside was boring—it was extremely pretty. But it was also extremely sunny, and right now, Nan wanted off the train and into a room where she could get a sponge bath or give herself a cologne rub to cool off. Travel by train might be fast, but it was also dirty, and the sturdy dark brown linen suit she wore was definitely not best suited to the weather.

  So it was with a great deal of relief that she felt the train slowing for Yelverton. She knew it was for Yelverton, because she had been obsessively keeping track of the stops.

  “It’s bigger than I thought,” Sarah said with surprise, as she craned her neck out the window with one hand firmly on her hat to keep it from flying off.

  “Yelverton is not that far from Plymouth,” John replied. “Many people feel that it is worth a lengthy commute to live in the country. Suki, can you put the carriers on the floor for the birds?”

  “Yessir,” Suki said obediently.

  By the time the train finally stopped at the platform, the entire party had gathered up belongings and were more than ready to exit. Nan was the first out, and immediately began looking up and down the platform for their promised transportation to the Rock Hotel. She noticed that there was a turntable at the far end of the station, and her curiosity was piqued. She’d never seen one in action, and it appeared that in order to go on to Princeton the locomotive had to be detached and re-hooked to the carriages . . . and for a moment she was distracted from her search.

  But their transportation spotted them before she saw him. “Pardon me, miss,” said someone behind her—

  Well, her ears translated it to “pardon me, miss,” but she had the feeling that if it had not been for Puck’s “language lesson” she would not have been able to understand him at all.

  “—be tha th’ party Lord Alderscroft sent?”

  “We are,” Nan replied, as the rest of them gathered around her and the gentleman who had addressed her—who was dressed respectably, though not in recognizable livery, in a brown coat, trousers of a slightly lighter color, and a brilliant scarlet waistcoat. He was holding his Derby in both hands and gazed toward John Watson deferentially.

  “We are,” John repeated, at which the man beamed.

  “Well, then if tha’ll coom this way.” He took one hand off the hat brim and gestured, then moved off briskly.

  “You all follow him, I’ll organize the luggage and meet you,” John told them. Suki didn’t need to be told twice; she scampered after the man and caught up with him. Mary, Nan, and Sarah got a firm grip on their bird carriers and carpetbags and hurried their steps.

  They caught up with him just as he rounded the corner of the station, and there, waiting at the street, was a coach with a signboard proclaiming The Rock Inn on the side. To Nan’s relief, there was nothing else on the signboard but the name of the hotel in elegant Gothic letters, red outlined in gold on white. In her experience, when hotel coaches advertised the quality of their rooms or other amenities on their coaches, the accommodations rarely matched the descriptions.

  The coach itself was of much older vintage than the sign, but it didn’t look in disrepair, merely “well-used.” And Nan didn’t care; it was big enough for the five of them and all their luggage, and that was all that mattered. And to Suki’s delirious delight, it was pulled by two enormous “Shire” horses, with thickly feathered feet, platter-sized hooves, and gentle eyes. Suki had wanted to be near and pet such horses since a previous trip to the country outside of London. She completely won over the coachman by standing near their noses with her hands firmly clasped behind her back and asking, “Please, may I pet them?” Which is, of course, the proper and respectful way to treat both a coachman and his horses. So while John directed the porters in loading their luggage, Suki was introduced to “Daisy” and “Dandy.”

  Eventually, they were all rolling down the uneven streets of Yelverton. It was a lot prettier than Nan had expected; most of the buildings were either made of gray stone or had had the stone plastered over and whitewashed. Many of them still had thatched roofs, although modern shingles were replacing those roofs rapidly. And as John had mentioned, there seemed to be a great many new houses—what he called, ironically, “suburban villas,” the homes of prosperous businessmen who worked in Plymouth and spent an hour each way commuting on the train.

  The main street was cobbled, but most of the side streets were not. It was, however, not at all long before they were pulling up to a two-storied structure that to Nan’s eyes looked as if it must have once been someone’s country house. But that must have been a good long while ago, since the bold brass letters proclaiming it to be The Rock Inn had been over the door for quite some time.

  They all alighted as a porter appeared from the doorway to take care of the luggage.

  Inside it was evident that this was a very old building. The ceilings were low, whitewashed plaster with exposed beams. The walls were whitewashed plaster, and the floor polished flagstones.

  John was already in deep conversation with their host as the rest of them entered the first room, which appeared to be the public bar.

  A lot quicker than Nan would have thought, she, Sarah, Suki, and the birds were established in their “room,” which was rather larger than she would have anticipated. There were two beds plus a trundle for Suki, a lounge, three padded armchairs and a little table, a desk and desk chair, a dressing table and stool, a wardrobe and a blanket chest, and a washstand. They had their own (currently cold) fireplace. Nan was resigned to using a non-flushing toilet, but at least it was indoors, down the hall and at the bottom of the stairs. In the last country inn they had stayed at, the facilities were in a small, divided outbuilding in the stableyard. And I am so spoilt. As a child I squatted with a bare bum in the corner of wherever. I didn’t even have knickers to pull down.

  Suki immediately pulled out her trundle and flopped down on it.

  The walls were whitewashed plaster; the floor was varnished wood, with scattered, hand-braided rugs; the curtains were a faded floral with lace trim that matched the coverlets on all three beds. And someone had followed Nan’s directions for the birds to the letter. At the foot of each bed was a rectangular wooden umbrella stand. Newspapers had been spread beneath them, and two pairs of old, handle-less teacups had been bound into each end with some extremely clever rope-work. She let the birds out of their carriers and got the pitcher of water from the washstand, pouring them both drinks.

  At that moment, the porters came up with their trunks. Alderscroft had supplied trunks for all of them, pointing out that they were not going to have to be moving the things around, porters would. Nan had given in, knowing she’d never win the argument with him.

  When the trunks had been placed, Nan shut and locked the door. “I am having a quick wash and a change,” she said firmly, already stripping off her jacket. “I am hot, and sticky,
and I am not remaining that way a minute longer.”

  “Me too!” said Suki, jumping up off the bed.

  It was not the first time that the three of them had shared a washbowl. There was just enough water in the two pitchers to get them all reasonably clean, and once all three of them had changed into much more comfortable cotton lingerie dresses, Nan unlocked the door, to find one of the hotel servants waiting patiently outside it with two cups of food for the birds. Chopped vegetables for Grey, and chopped offal for Neville.

  “Thank you!” Sarah said, taking them. “We’ll need more water and fresh towels, please.”

  The servant nodded, as if she had expected exactly that. “Chell fetch ’em for ’ee, Miss,” she said. “Public room be open.”

  “Thankee.” Nan actually felt things shifting around in her head to make what she was saying come out in the local dialect. “We’ll just be lookin’ in on our friends.” She gestured to Sarah and Suki to come with her, and then moved down the corridor to the Watsons’ room.

  Mary answered the door in a lingerie dress of her own, and when she let them in, even Watson had changed to a much lighter suit and had his jacket off. “Hungry?” Nan asked. “I’ve been informed that the public room is open.”

  Her own stomach growled, and Mary Watson laughed. “That sounds to me as if there is no question as to what we should do next. Are the birds tended to?”

  “As well as at home,” Sarah confirmed. “And I’m perishing. Let’s see what’s on offer.”

  * * *

  The Rock evidently was very popular with people making holiday excursions to “see Dartmoor,” though the vast majority of them would never go further into the moors than a few hundred yards off the road. The public room was full, mostly with fit, young men (though there seemed to be a heavy contingent of locals in the adjacent taproom), and there were a few equally hearty-looking young women in sturdy linen walking suits, and even a couple brave souls in the hiking version of a bloomer suit!

  Just as they were finishing the last of their drinks, one of the barmaids paused by their table. “Master Linwood would like to invite you to his private parlor,” she said. “If you’ll follow me?”

  Nan glanced at Suki, and sure enough, Suki was starting to nod. The sticky toffee pudding she’d tucked into at the end of the meal probably had something to do with that. “Suki, do you need me to show you where our rooms are?” she asked.

  Suki shook her head. I can just follow Neville’s thinks, Nan heard in her own head.

  Excellent, Nan replied the same way, and eased off the bench so Suki could get past her. Suki bade them all a polite goodnight, while the barmaid waited with just a tiny bit of impatience until the girl trotted off.

  They followed their escort down narrow passages all the way to the back of the place, then up a set of stairs next to the kitchen. This proved to be the way to the landlord’s private apartments, and they were ushered into a shabby-comfortable back parlor not unlike Sherlock’s sitting room—except with fewer chemical smells, bullet holes, and laboratory equipment.

  The room, with its worn brown leather furniture, plain whitewashed walls, and bare wooden floor, was uncompromisingly masculine—not that there wasn’t just as much clutter as in a room decorated by a woman. But this was actual clutter, not attempts to decorate with all the latest frou-frous. Fishing flies in a case on a side table, a stack of poles in a corner, newspapers piled up under the table, scatterings of coins, a pocket knife and a half-formed carving. . . . Now that Nan was paying attention, she noticed one other thing missing: any sign of tobacco or tobacco products. Which made sense. This man was an Elemental Magician, and tobacco was basically a poison. It affected Earth and Air particularly; Fire Mages could smoke and get away with it; Water could but generally didn’t because smoking didn’t suit their natures. But Earth and Air were both affected badly by the stuff.

  Harold Linwood himself did not appear until a few minutes later, although the barmaid made sure that they didn’t need anything before she left them. When he finally came clumping up the stairs, he appeared much less harried than Nan would have expected.

  He was older than Nan had thought, given she’d only seen a miniature version of him in the fireplace flames. Taller than John Watson, wearing a smock and moleskin trousers, with a full apron on which he was wiping his hands. “Harold Linwood, Earth Magician, at your service,” he said, holding out his hand to John.

  John rose and shook it. “I’m Doctor John Watson, Water Master; this is my wife, Mary, Air Master, and my friends Nan Killian, Spirit Magician and Psychic, and Sarah Lyon-White, medium and Spirit Master.”

  Linwood shook hands all around, though his eyes had widened when John introduced Nan and Sarah. “Well! Well, well, well! Spirit Mages! Well, well!” he said, sounding very much as if he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “Our little sister is also a Psychic, and we don’t know if she has any bent toward magic,” Nan continued. “She’s very tired, so she went to bed. The two birds we brought are . . . intelligent.”

  “I’ll reckon ye mean more’n that they can say ‘Polly wants a cracker,’ then,” Linwood said.

  Nan laughed. “Very much more. And thank you for the accommodations for them; what you supplied was perfect. I promise you that your linens and floors have nothing to fear from them. They are better behaved than many humans I could name.”

  Linwood laughed, and took a seat. “Naow, I dunno if there’s anythin’ to this business His Lordship sent you on—”

  “Actually, we already know there is something odd going on,” John Watson interrupted him. “The chief constable here in Yelverton believes that an unusual number of children have gone missing on the moors over the past four or five years. We just don’t know why. Our only clue at the moment is a pair of children from near Sheepstor that vanished.” He frowned. “Actually, we don’t know at the moment if they are still missing. But we have to start somewhere.”

  “Well!” Linwood said, taken aback. “Well, well, well. Big doin’s for wee little Yelverton. I’m fair ageest. Wust I would’a thought is them thievin’ Travelers.” His brow wrinkled. “But if thet’s so, why hev’ none on us—” He paused, obviously not wanting to insult them, but also skeptical that these Londoners would know about evil doings before the resident mages did.

  “We talked to the Oldest Old One,” Sarah said bluntly, eliciting a gasp from their host. “He said that magicians have been up to no good out on the moors for generations, and that plenty of them made themselves dens that are so well-guarded and hidden, that not even he can find them. He reckons that this is a new magician, but using one of these ancient dens to hide his work.”

  “Or her,” Linwood put in. “No reason cain’t be a witch.” He pulled on his lower lip. “Every reason why’t might be. Young ’un coulda took over her Grammar’s cot. Old ’un could be workin’ mischief outa spite, or t’keep ’ersel’ young an’ bowerly.”

  “No reason it can’t be a woman,” Nan agreed, although she was more than a bit skeptical about the notion that someone could use magic to keep herself young and attractive. . . .

  But then again, she didn’t really know all that much about magic, did she? And even then, it was only magic as practiced by ethical magicians. Maybe it was possible?

  She just listened quietly as John Watson and Harold Linwood discussed all the local Elemental Mages that Linwood knew, consigning all that information to memory. Sarah, however, was taking notes.

  “And where’ll ye go from ’ere?” Linwood asked, when he had delivered all the information he had.

  “Talk to the chief constable, and probably make a trip out to Sheepstor to talk to the parents of the missing boy and girl,” John replied.

  “Can any of you ride?” Linwood asked, in tones that suggested he thought it was unlikely that a bunch of London city-dwellers knew one end of a horse from another
.

  “All of us, including Suki,” said Nan, dryly, before John could reply. “Quite well, in fact.” She thought about mentioning the fact that Suki had taken to going out on one of the school ponies every Hunt day, intercepting the fox and carrying it over her saddlebow to safety, through terrain even the seasoned hunters would think twice about. She decided against the idea. These country people took their fox hunting seriously. She was just glad it wasn’t Hunt season right now. “I’d venture to say that as far as Sarah, Suki, and I go, you’d be hard put to find a horse we couldn’t handle.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far for myself, but I can ride,” John said.

  “Father and I rode with the local Hunt,” said Mary, with an amused glance at her husband.

  “Well then, I’ll loan tha’ nags out of m’ own stable,” Linwood offered. And when John started to protest, the mage cut him off. “Reckon it’s least I c’n do, given what His Lordship’s payin’ for.” His eyes twinkled as he added, “Don’ stin’ thasselves in my housen. His Lordship’s got a open purse.”

  Linwood promised to arrange for equipment needed to safely tramp over the moor as well; not just Ordinance Survey maps—which John providentially knew how to read—but compasses and sextants and other things that eventually blurred together in Nan’s mind. No matter, both John and Mary knew what the landlord was talking about, so she dismissed these things for the moment. When the time came she’d learn how to use them.

  Meanwhile, shadows lengthened outside the parlor windows; the sky moved from blue to red, to deep purple, and finally to black spangled with stars.