Grip of the Shadow Plague (Fablehaven #3)

Grip of the Shadow Plague (Fablehaven #3) Page 32

"Call me Cloudwing," the other said.

"I'm Seth. My grandfather is the caretaker."

"He needs more practice taking care of things," Broadhoof scoffed.

"He's saved Fablehaven before," Seth countered. "Give him time."

"No mortal is fit for such a task," Cloudwing asserted.

Seth batted at a fly. "I hope you're wrong. I haven't noticed many centaurs around here."

Cloudwing stretched his arms, triceps bulging. "Most of our kind assembled at a different refuge."

"The ring of stones?" Seth asked.

"You know of Grunhold?" Broadhoof sounded surprised.

"Not the name. I just heard there was another place at Fablehaven that repelled dark creatures."

"We belong there, with our kind," Broadhoof said.

"Why not make a run for it?" Seth asked.

Cloudwing stamped a hoof. "Grunhold is far from here. Considering how the darkness has spread, it would be irresponsible to attempt the journey."

"Have any of your kind been contaminated?" Seth asked.

Broadhoof scowled. "Some. Two who were scouting with us were changed and chased us here."

"Not that any portion of Fablehaven will serve as a refuge much longer," Cloudwing said. "I question whether any magic can indefinitely withstand such pervasive darkness."

"We have introduced ourselves," Broadhoof declared. "If you will excuse us, young human, we prefer conversing in our own tongue."

"Okay, good to meet you," Seth said with a small wave.

The centaurs gave no response, nor did they proceed to speak with each other. Seth walked away, disappointed not to hear what their language sounded like, certain their stern eyes were boring into his back. Doren was right. Centaurs were jerks.

Kendra gazed down at the framed sepia photograph. Even with old-fashioned hair and a heavy mustache, Patton had been a strikingly handsome man. He was not smiling, but something in his expression screamed playful cockiness. Of course, her perception might be tainted by her having read so many entries in his journals.

Grandpa walked beside her onto the little pier that projected from the base of one of the gazebos. On one side of the pier floated the boathouse Patton had constructed. The pond was basically smooth. She saw no sign of the naiads. Her gaze wandered to the island at the center of the pond, where the tiny shrine to the Fairy Queen lay hidden among the shrubs.

"I think I'll also ask Lena if we can get the bowl back," Kendra said.

"The bowl from the shrine?" Grandpa asked.

"I was talking to a fairy earlier this summer, Shiara, who told me the naiads claimed the bowl as a trophy."

Grandpa frowned. "They guard the shrine. I assumed that trusting the bowl to their care would be the best way to ensure it was returned, since treading on the island is forbidden."

"Shiara said I wouldn't have been punished for personally returning it. Her words felt true. I was thinking, if I could get the bowl-"

"-maybe you could use it as an excuse to safely gain access to the island and approach the Fairy Queen about the plague. The odds for success aren't terrific, but we can at least inquire about the bowl."

"Right," Kendra said. She strode down the pier, glancing back when Grandpa did not accompany her. "I'll hang back and let you call to Lena," Grandpa said. "I had no luck last time."

Kendra walked to the end of the quay, stopping a few feet from the edge. She knew not to get near enough to the water for the naiads to grab hold of her. "Lena, it's Kendra! We need to talk."

"Look who blew in with the homeless land-plodders," said a snide female voice from below the water.

"I thought that puppet would have strangled her by now," responded a second speaker.

Kendra scowled. Upon one of her previous visits to the pond, the naiads had released Mendigo. Still under orders from Muriel the witch, the limberjack had snatched Kendra and taken her to the hill where the Forgotten Chapel once stood.

"You might as well summon Lena," Kendra stated. "I brought her a present she'll want to see."

"You may as well hobble away on your clumsy stilts," admonished a third voice. "Lena wants nothing to do with ground-stalkers."

Kendra raised her voice even more. "Lena, I brought a picture of your favorite land-plodder. A photograph of Patton."

"Go dig a hole and lie in it," hissed the first voice with a hint of desperation. "Even a dull-witted air-gulper should recognize when her company is undesired."

"Grow old and die," spat another naiad.

"Kendra, wait!" called a familiar voice, dreamy and musical. Lena drifted into view, her upturned face just below the surface of the water. She looked even younger than the last time Kendra had seen her. Not a trace of gray remained in her black hair.

"Lena," Kendra said, "we need your help."

Lena regarded Kendra with her dark, almond-shapedeyes. "You mentioned a photograph."

"Patton looks very handsome in it."

"What would Lena care about some dry old picture?" squealed a voice. Other naiads tittered.

"What do you need?" Lena inquired sedately.

"I have good reason to believe Patton brought a second artifact to Fablehaven. I'm talking about the serious artifacts, the ones the Society wants. Do you know anything about it?"

Lena stared at Kendra. "I remember. Patton made me pledge not to share the secret unless it was absolutely necessary. That man was so funny about his mysteries. As if any of it really mattered."

"Lena, we absolutely need to locate the artifact. Fablehaven is on the brink of collapse."

"Again? Do you hope to trade the photograph for information about the artifact? Kendra, the water would ruin it."

"Not the photo itself," Kendra said. "Just a peek. How long has it been since you've seen his face?"

For an instant, Lena looked wounded, but her serenity returned almost immediately. "Don't you see that finding the artifact is irrelevant? Everything up there ends. Everything is fleeting, illusory, temporary. All you can show me is a flat image of my beloved, a lifeless memory. The real man is gone. As you will be also."

"If it truly doesn't matter, Lena," Grandpa said from farther back on the pier, "why not tell us? The information means nothing to you, but here, now, for the short time we live and breathe, it matters to us."

"The old one is yapping now," complained an unseen naiad.

"Don't answer him, Lena," encouraged a second voice. "Wait him out. He'll be dead before you know it."

Several voices giggled.

"Have you forgotten our friendship, Lena?" Grandpa asked.

"Please tell us," Kendra said. "For Patton." She held up the picture.

Lena's eyes widened. Her face broke the surface of the water and she mouthed Patton's name.

"Don't make us drag you under," warned a voice.

"Touch me and so help me I'll abandon you," Lena murmured, entranced by the image Kendra held.

Lena's gaze shifted to Kendra. "All right, Kendra. Perhaps this is what he would have wanted. He hid the artifact in the old manor."

"Where in the manor?"

"It will be hard to find. Go to the northernmost room on the third floor. The safe with the artifact inside appears every Monday at noon for one minute."

"Does the safe have a key?"

"A combination: right twice to 33, left once to 22, then right to 31."

Kendra glanced back at Grandpa. He was jotting down the numbers. "Got that?" she asked.

"33-22-31," he said, giving Lena a funny look.

His former housekeeper averted her eyes shyly.

"I have another question," Kendra asked. "What did Kurisock do to Patton's uncle?"

"I don't know," Lena said. "Patton never shared that story. It plainly pained him, so I never pressed. He meant to tell me, I think, in his later years. He repeatedly told me I would hear the tale one day."

"So you know nothing about Kurisock?" Kendra asked.

"Only that he is a demon on this preserve. And he may have been somehow affiliated with the apparition who usurped the manor."

"What apparition?" Kendra asked.

"It happened before my fall to mortality. Like I said, I never learned the details. The apparition who destroyed Marshal no doubt still resides in the manor. Patton hid the artifact there because it would be well guarded."

"Marshal was Patton's uncle?"

"Marshal Burgess."

"One last thing. There is a silver bowl. The Fairy Queen gave it to me."

Lena nodded. "Forget the bowl. You cast it into the pond, and we have claimed it."

"I need it back," Kendra said. There was a chorus of hearty laughter from the other naiads. "It's the key for me to safely approach the Fairy Queen again. She may be our only hope of overcoming the plague."

"Come over to the edge and I'll hand it to you," taunted an unseen naiad. Several other voices tittered.

"The bowl is their most treasured keepsake," Lena said. "They, we, will never relinquish it. I had best go. My sisters become skittish when I spend too much time near the surface."

Kendra felt tears well in her eyes. "Are you happy, Lena?"

"Happy enough. My sisters have striven to rehabilitate me. The glimpse of Patton was thoughtful, although it made old wounds ache. For the kindness of the gesture, I told you what you wanted. Enjoy what time you have."

Lena sank into the pond. Kendra stared after her, but the pond was deep, and Lena was soon out of sight.

Grandpa approached behind Kendra, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Well done, Kendra. Very well done."

"The withered one grabbed the obnoxious one," observed a voice.

"Push her in!" cried another.

"Let's get away from here," Kendra said.

Chapter Seventeen

Preparations

The largest of the three tents Dale had brought from the house was the biggest privately owned tent Seth had ever seen. The square monstrosity had broad purple and yellow stripes and a steep, curving roof that sloped up to a high central pole with a banner at the pinnacle. The flap over the wide entrance was propped on rods to form a sizable awning. The smaller tents were also fairly roomy, but their dimensions and coloring were less eccentric.

Seth sat in the entrance of the tent where he, Warren, and Dale would be staying. Grandma and Grandpa were sharing the big one. And Kendra got her own, which Seth did not like, but sadly he could think of no reasonable arguments why the arrangements should be otherwise. He had resolved that if the weather stayed pleasant, he would go sleep in one of the gazebos.

A barefooted dryad approached Grandpa's tent. Her long, auburn hair hung past her waist, and her robes evoked memories of bright autumn leaves. She crouched to duck through the entrance. How tall did that make her? Seven feet? More?

Seth had seen several interesting characters come and go from Grandpa's tent over the past hour. But when he had sought admittance, Grandma had shooed him away, promising that he would soon be part of the conversation.

A red fairy with wings like flower petals shot through the air. Seth could not tell whether she had emerged from Grandpa's tent or had come whizzing over the top from behind. She hovered for a moment not far from Seth before streaking out of view.

Absently uprooting handfuls of grass, Seth resolved not to be excluded any longer. Clearly Grandpa and Grandma preferred to gather news and opinions in a way that wouldallow them to regulate the information, sharing only those facts and ideas deemed suitable for his frail brain. But hearing the unedited details from the actual creatures was half the fun, and whether his grandparents believed it or not,Seth knew he was mature enough to handle anything they could hear. Besides, was it his fault that the walls of a tent were so thin?

He rose and strolled to the back of the yellow and purple tent, sitting in the shade on the lawn with his back to the fabric wall. Straining to listen, he tried to look idle and bored. He heard only the clamor of the satyrs playing on the boardwalk.

"You won't hear anything," Warren said, coming around the side of the tent.

Seth hopped guiltily to his feet. "I just wanted to relaxin the shade."

"The tent is magically soundproof-a fact you might have known if you'd helped us set it up."

"I'm sorry, I was-"

Warren held up a hand. "If our roles were reversed, I would have been anxious to meet all the creatures here too. Don't worry, I would have come and nabbed you had we really needed your help. Have you enjoyed yourself?"

"The centaurs weren't very nice," Seth said.

"It looked like they spoke to you. That alone is a feat."

"What's with them?"

"In a word, arrogance. They see themselves as the apex of all creation. All else lies beneath their notice."

"Kind of like fairies," Seth said.

"Yes and no. Fairies are vain, and find most of our affairs boring, but whatever they pretend, they care what we think of them. Centaurs neither seek nor appreciate our admiration-if anything, they take it for granted. Unlike fairies, centaurs sincerely perceive all other creatures as inherently lower than themselves."

"They sound like my math teacher," Seth said.

Warren grinned.

Seth noticed some dark fairies floating just beyond the nearest portion of the hedge wall. "This plague got to the centaurs just like it affected everyone else."