The Case of the Spellbound Child Read online

  Nan delved further. Show me what happened to your hand, she commanded gently, and after a moment of resistance, the memory opened up for her. She experienced the horrible moment when the Dark One chopped off Helen’s finger. And the subsequent moments when one of the children (Sam, said the memories) actually healed the stump right before Nan’s astonished eyes!

  He must be an Earth Magician—potentially a Master!

  And then she witnessed something she had expected from the beginning, a moment when the Dark One chased Helen from the room, raised its arms, and all of the children in that room dropped instantly into what looked like sleep.

  This was not sleep, obviously, and the Dark One was not there to do those children any favors. This was, as she and the others had suspected from the beginning, some sort of way of draining those children of magic power. And why was Helen spared?

  The answer is obvious. Because she hasn’t a particle of magic in her. But her brother does. She was only useful to the Dark One as a servant.

  Well, she had some of the answers, if not all of them. Not yet.

  She had to wade through other memories first, including Helen’s first attempts at escape, and the Dark One summoning moor ponies to ride off—somewhere. But the answer to where this prison-cottage was located was not in those.

  She went deeper, to the moment they found this place. This, like Maude’s cottage, was at the back of a wooded combe, and again, there was no real way of telling where it was. There were no landmarks. She was nowhere near familiar enough with Dartmoor to tell one valley from another. The siblings had been lost when they stumbled on it—

  Or did they stumble? Helen had no idea where to go after that first night on the moor. What if Simon was lured there? That would make perfect sense; he’s the one with magic, so he would be the most sensitive to a lure like that. In fact, the lure might just have been set to only bring in children with magic. All Simon had to do was drift in the right general direction for them to find the place. They were busy foraging; Helen wasn’t paying attention to where they were going as long as they continued to gather food.

  She moved forward to the moment in time when Helen escaped successfully, and ran out of the woods that were hiding the cottage and got up on the first hill and looked about herself, trying to orient herself—

  —absolutely nothing looked familiar. Not to Helen, and not to Nan.

  Damnit! These cursed moorlands all look alike!

  There was nothing in any direction in the way of any sort of notable landmark, no distinctively shaped rocks or bodies of water, no tree taller than the rest, and no thin skeins of smoke rising on the horizon that would have indicated a cottage or even a village. Just the moor, a few ponies in the far distance. Poor Helen, there was not even a sign of a single sheep—if she’d found sheep, she could have found the shepherd eventually.

  But Helen had known she had to put as much distance between herself and the cottage as she could, because the Dark One would be on her heels as soon as it returned and found her gone. So she just picked a direction and started walking. The only thing in her mind was her father’s advice; if lost, find water and follow it.

  But she never found water. And a storm found her.

  Caught out in the open after dark when she thought she had settled into a good enough shelter, a storm came racing across the moors, the sky poured rain down on her, and she was soaked to the skin. By morning she was aching and nearly frozen and starting to sniffle. By noon, she sat down and never got up again, exhausted, too tired and sick even to eat, and by night she was semi-conscious and in a fever.

  It’s a wonder she survived that night.

  Nan carefully pulled herself out of the memories, wishing they had that boy Sam with them now. When she opened her eyes, everyone was staring at her—except Maude, who was still asleep.

  Outside, birds sang. Inside, Helen wheezed (though not as badly as she had when they first arrived). Otherwise it was completely silent in the cottage, with everyone, even Suki, watching her intently, as if they expected her to have the answer to everything.

  If only she did!

  “Well,” she said, “I still don’t know who had Helen, or where she was held. But I learned a lot, and I absolutely know Maude Rundle is completely innocent.”

  * * *

  The one thing that Sarah regretted not having with them were those wretched sketching kits, which they had left behind when they’d gone back to the Rock for the horses. They were full of paper and colored pencils and would have proved immensely useful in making drawings of the Dark One and the Dark One’s cottage and its surroundings. If only they’d had the kits, they might have been able to show them to Maude or Gatfer Cole, and they might have recognized something about the cottage.

  But at least now Nan had the information to convince John and Mary that Maude was not the villain here.

  “But wait!” John, of course, protested. “Maude is wearing the same sort of robe the Dark One was! She could have invoked the shadows within the hood—”

  “Shadows, maybe,” Nan countered. “But unless Maude can cast the illusion that she’s nearly a foot taller than she is now, and hide her very ample breasts, that’s unlikely. I can show you the memory again, if you’d like, but we know how tall Helen is, we know how tall Maude is, and we know that the Dark One did not have bosoms big enough to nurse quadruplets.”

  “But—” John began.

  “You’re the Master. You can rate lesser Elemental Mages, and they can’t hide their power from you. You can tell how much power she has. So how much power does she have?” Nan interrupted.

  John sighed. “Not enough,” he admitted. “Not for that big an illusion, that close to the subject, and not for as long as Helen had the Dark One in sight.”

  So by the time Maude woke again, the Watsons were no longer assuming she was the kidnapper.

  Maude listened very carefully to Nan’s description of the cottage where the children were being held, but shook her head with regret. “Dunno ’t. Moors be full’a combes an’ ancient cots. If’n ’ee arst me ’bout a person, might could tell ’ee. But cot in combe on moor? Nomye. Could ’ide a circus an’ a dizzen nelly-fants on moor. No more ’ould Es’ve laid eyen on’t, sin ’ee reck there be spells on’t t’ hide ’t.”

  “At least we know who this girl is now,” Sarah observed, gesturing at the one that was still comatose. “Her name is Rose.” She glanced back over at Maude. “Can you use that to bring her out of her sleep?”

  Maude scratched her head speculatively. “Aye,” she said slowly. “Reckon Es can. Need t’make th’ lass feel safe, an’ ’earin’ a ’ooman callin’ ’er name saft-like, that’d ’elp.”

  John glanced out the window, into the growing dusk. There was an owl calling out there. “We need to go. The horses need to be back to their stable, and we need to think of a way to find that cottage. Can you manage without us?” John asked. “Because if you can’t, one of us will stay here with you to help you with both girls.”

  “Oh aye,” Maude replied, “Naow Es got some sleep. Right fitty uv ’ee, Marster Doctor, t’gi th’ wench th’ mold. Niver recked on that. Knowed it were good fer wounds, niver thought it were good et.”

  John shrugged, but Sarah could tell that he was pleased.

  “Go an’ find that divil,” she continued, her tone turning wrathful. “Stop at Gatfer Cole, tell t’ awld woodquist, Maude needs ’im, an’ all tha’ lidden, an’ ’e’ll be ’ere aggoon. Can crost moor t’ ’ere ’oodman-blind, ’e can.”

  John gaped at her. “You know Gatfer Cole?”

  She snorted. “Don’ Es? Pisht. An’ Ganmer Dolly down t’ Yelverton. An’ Linwood at Rock, though ’e thinks ’e be too ’portant t’know usn’s. Off wi’ ’ee. Soonest begun is soonest done!”

  18

  IF Simon had not been so mind-numbingly weary, he would have been crying again
.

  There was no doubt in his mind now that Something Bad had happened to Ellie, because otherwise she would have found people, and help, and someone would have come—for him, if not for the other children. He and the others had had a single moment of hope, a day or so ago—it was hard to keep track—when the Dark One came in with another rough-looking man, wearing his own face and in normal clothing. Because they hadn’t known at that point that it was the Dark One, and seeing two strange men come in the door, they’d all thought it was rescue at last, and had started crying out for help.

  Only to have their hopes utterly crushed, as the weedy little man turned toward their prison and grinned, showing a mouth full of crooked yellow teeth.

  “Oh ’ee thin’ usn’s ’ere t’ ’elp ’ee, does ’ee?” And he had let out a guffaw as the other man just stood there, like a mommet.

  Simon had understood what was going on immediately, and so had Robbie, though it took several long moments while the weedy man laughed and laughed and laughed. “Look ’ere, mate,” the weedy man had said to the other. “See, Es gots own slaveys an’ all. ’Elp me ’aul in t’goods.”

  The weedy man was the Dark One! Either this was the Dark One’s proper form, or, more likely, the Dark One had been taking the shape of a proper man in order to visit whatever place he was going where he was getting all his booty. Either way, whoever the second man was, mate, ally, or another devil, there was no help coming from him, either.

  Slowly the other children realized this too, and shrank back against the wall as they brought in bottles and bags of stuff and stowed them on the floor next to the hearth. It was enough to have required the services of four ponies, which explained why the Dark One had needed help.

  When they brought in the last load, the other man finally spoke. “’Ow ’ee cotch ’em, Anglin?” he asked casually. “They ain’t got kin?”

  The Dark One picked his teeth with his thumbnail. “Witchery, mate. Th’ cot’s th’ flower, they’s th’ bees, they vaught ’ere. Lost, run-off, lost kin, don’ matter. They on moor alone, ’ear th’ cot callin’ an’ they come. An’ that’s ’ow Es get lasses. They chillern got witchery-blood too, else they’d not’ve heerd th’ call, an’ I c’n take the witchery from ’em.” He leaned back against the doorpost, arms crossed casually over his chest. “’Ee wanter see?”

  The other man looked intrigued. “Aye! Ain’t never seed no witchery!”

  “Bide ’ee,” the Dark One said, and walked into their prison room like he always did.

  No! Simon thought in anguish, because the Dark One had just put them into the Dark Sleep yesterday!

  But of course, no one cared what Simon wanted, least of all the Dark One.

  When the terrors broke their hold on him, he couldn’t open his eyes, but his ears worked just fine. “Eh, Anglin,” said the stranger. “That were a wunner!”

  “Aye mate,” the Dark One said, laughing. “Too bad ’ee ain’t gonna ’member none of ’t!”

  And exhaustion pulled Simon down into true sleep.

  * * *

  With one of Mary’s sylphs guiding them and John conjuring a light for the horses to see by, they moved across the moor at a quick trot. The moor was both beautiful and eerie at night; owl calls traveled for miles, and all the shadows seemed to hold secrets. The temperature was dropping quickly, and Sarah shivered in the damp breeze, and wished she had brought something heavier to throw over her shoulders. The Gatfer was still awake when they rode up to his cottage, and when he heard what they had to say, he quickly threw a few things into a sack. Then he did something odd. He took some small object down from his mantelpiece into his cupped hands, whispered to it, closed his eyes and waited for a moment, then put it back. Sarah could not be entirely sure what it was . . . but it had looked like a little bundle of twigs.

  When they all went outside, there was a most peculiar-looking little black dog waiting patiently just outside the door. And when Sarah took a look at it with the Sight, it nearly blinded her with the amount of magic packed into its body.

  “Eh, Grim,” Gatfer said by way of a salute. “Well come, an’ thanks t’ tha Marster. Twa maids be desperd cruel sick over t’ Auld Maude’s. Wilt guide un’s safe there?”

  The dog let out a surprisingly deep and pleasant-sounding bark. Neville and Grey eyed it, and nodded their approval. Gatfer turned to John. “No fear, Water Marster. Th’ Grim be a friend, nay a fiend. Haste ’ee back, Chell haste on. Tha’ knows where t’find me, an’ tha’ needs me.”

  And without another word, off he went, following the little black dog that frisked on ahead, as if this were a pleasure trip, moving so quickly he might have had eyes like an owl. A moment later, and he was lost to the shadows on the moor.

  “Is that—” John began.

  “Some sort of creature that owes allegiance to Robin?” Sarah finished. “I think so, yes. I think the Gatfer has had his own share of encounters with the Oldest Old One—and Maude and the girls are out of our hands now. Let’s get back to Yelverton.”

  By this time it was so dark that the lights of Yelverton were visible through the trees in the distance, and they were near enough that the horses could smell their stable and were eager to get into it. The stableman looked relieved to see them, but did not make any more fuss about their late return than that.

  Wonderful smells as well as light and noise came from the open kitchen door, spilling out into the yard between the kitchen and the stable.

  They were all ravenous, but John asked at the bar for a meal of steak and kidney pie to be brought up to the Watsons’ room rather than wait for it in the public room; at this point they were all too impatient to dally around where they couldn’t speak freely.

  They all hurried up the stairs to the second floor and the Watsons’ room. But the moment John opened his door, he froze.

  “Don’t just stand there, Watson,” came Holmes’ voice from inside. “I think I’ve found your villain, and mine, and if I am correct, as I deduced, they are one and the same. But before I reveal what I have learned, tell me what you know.”

  * * *

  Nan waited somewhat impatiently as the servant who brought up their meal also found another chair for the unexpected visitor, and fussed about laying everything out on the table before she would leave. Nan really wanted to take the girl by the nape and the behind and shove her out the door—but that would have been unpardonably rude, and more important, it would have told her there was something going on that might be worth the risk of listening at the keyhole for.

  Finally she left, and they ate—while talking. Holmes listened carefully to everything they had to say, nodding from time to time as he methodically worked his way through his piece of pie and mashed turnips. They each took turns in the telling, and Nan sensed that all of them were paying very little attention to the meal except as fodder, until everything they knew was all laid out in front of Holmes.

  And it was at that point that they were all interrupted again by the servant coming back for the emptied plates. Nan was about to burst with impatience, when Sarah solved the problem of the girl lingering about—probably hoping to hear some choice gossip she could tell the others in the kitchen—by dropping a substantial tip on her tray. She was in such a hurry then to secure her prize that the dishes clattered as she stacked them hastily, and she fairly flew out the door.

  Problem solved. Well done, Sarah.

  “I will begin at the beginning,” Holmes said. “As you know, I am protecting the reputation of several young ladies. At least five, although I only know the identity of one for certain. Now, this is how it began. I am waiting on several schemes for the rounding up of the last of Moriarty’s men to come to fruition, and Mycroft knew I was essentially sitting idle. So when I made my usual contact with him, he proposed I take the case of a lady of his acquaintance. She came to him in great distress, and without the knowledge of her husband, to
tell him that she had unaccountably fallen prey to a ruffian here in Yelverton. I agreed only to hear her story, before I would commit to helping, partly because I did not know if I could, and partly because I wanted to hear the whole of it from her directly. And, to be honest, partly because I was not in the least interested in helping someone avoid divorce proceedings. Granted, Mycroft is usually very good at sniffing out things that are of no interest to me, but the lady is very fair, and Mycroft is slightly more susceptible to the female sex than I am. So I heard her out myself, and I was immediately both interested and alarmed.”

  John raised his eyebrow skeptically, but didn’t interrupt.

  “You know me better than that, John,” Holmes chided. “This lady is very much enamored of her husband, and the story she told me was so strange I was certain it had to be true. They were here to take a walking tour of the moors. This unfortunate event occurred on the last night they were to stay, here, at this very hotel. She went out for a breath of air as her husband was entertaining several young Oxford students in the taproom who were here for a walking tour of their own, as he, too, is a Magdalene man. More than a little bored by very old cricket exploits, and not ready to go back to their room alone, she came out to the front to sit and admire the view and the moonlight. And that was when she was accosted by someone she described as ‘a very rough fellow.’ It began merely as a simple ‘wot’ ’ee doin’ ’ere, miss,’ which she rebuffed with, ‘I am waiting for my husband.’ At least, that was her intention, but what came out was, ‘My husband is inside.’ And the next thing she knew, she was overcome by what I can only describe as unnatural, inescapable lust for him. She told me that it was as if she was under some evil spell, and her will was not her own. I will not describe what followed, save to say only that not only did she give herself to him, she also gave him every penny she had on her person, and a very valuable necklace, then as if she were sleepwalking, left him, went straight up to the room, undressed and went to bed, and fell instantly asleep. Her husband joined her some time later, none the wiser. She told him later that she had lost the necklace some time that day during their last walk and had not noticed it was gone until morning, but she was so distressed that it and her folly might be traced back to her that she came straight to Mycroft, and then, to me.”