It was dark by the time we crawled out from under the porch. The multi-colored orbs that hung in zigzags across the streets glowed gently and stars glittered in the sky above us. The street was much quieter than it had been when we arrived.
As I stood, I was grabbed roughly by my upper arm and a gruff, female voice said, “Halt! You two are trespassing on private property!”
Uh oh. “I am so sorry!” I said, raising my hands. “We didn’t–”
I was interrupted by raucous laughter.
“Dude it’s totally me,” Hen said, releasing me.
“You scared the crap out of me!” I said.
“Very clever,” James said dryly. “I’d laugh but I’m afraid I might strain something. Like my patience.”
“Mr. Santiago, sir,” Corbyn said, appearing out of nowhere. “I hope you know that I didn’t participate in Ms. Henrietta’s prank.”
“It’s OK, Corbyn,” I said.
“Who’s Mr. Comedy?” Hen asked eyeing James as though sizing him up.
“James, this is Hen and Corbyn, who have been helping me with the pearls. Hen and Corbyn, this is James, my step-twin.”
“We’re step-brothers born on the same day,” James clarified.
“And where did your sense of humor go to die?” Hen asked. “Or don’t they offer that class in jerk school?”
“Guys. . . .” I started but James was already speaking.
“I know Santiago is Mr. Fortune Cookie here, but I predict you’ll go far in life. And when you do I hope you’ll stay there.”
“I’m not sure if I love you or hate you,” Hen said.
Typical reaction to James. I pushed the book into Hen’s hands to distract them. “We fetched this journal for Wasslehook. . . .”
“Oh wow. A book.”
I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic. “Any idea what Wasslehook wants it for?” I asked as she thumbed through it.
“Betcha a million links he wants it to find more magical artifacts.”
“Why are people up here so obsessed with old stuff?” James said. “Y’all are looking for an old necklace, Wasslehook sells artifacts, and Santiago said the Pop Shop sold artifacts. In the real world, or the ‘Underland’ as you so eloquently call it, we call this stuff junk and give it to Goodwill.”
“Are you kidding?” Hen asked. “Everybody wants magical artifacts.”
“Can’t anybody with a magic stone make their own?” I asked.
“Only the best tinkerers can,” Corbyn said.
“What’s that?” I asked.
Hen gave me a pitying look before saying, “Tinkering is how we make magic stones usable. You do know what magic stones are, right?”
I nodded but James raised an eyebrow.
“They’re like magical batteries,” I told him. “You can use them to do magic.”
“You mean you can use them to do magic,” James said.
“Right,” I said, blushing. “Bess said I’d get one at the beginning of freshman year.”
“And until then you eat the magic weeds,” James said. “Got it. Please continue.”
I was about to protest that they weren’t weeds but Corbyn cut in.
“Stones do lots and lots of things but they’re risky and tricky and they need to be recharged every night by moonlight,” Corbyn explained.
“Custom magic is waaay hard,” Hen added. “That’s why we have tinkerers. They become experts on the magic language and how it works and make it so the rest of us can use magic more easily.”
“And they can make magical objects that don’t need to be spelled every time they’re used,” Corbyn said. “They can last weeks and weeks before they need to be recharged. Designing them right is tricky though—extremely tricky.”
“That’s why tinkerers get paid chains upon chains of links,” Hen said.
“So, this journal could help Wasslehook find more artifacts,” I said. “Why not just pay someone to make new stuff?”
“Several reasons,” Corbyn said. “Tinkerers aren’t as good as they used to be, so older stuff is often better, much better.”
This reminded me of what Valentine and Bess had said about a curse. Could this be part of it?
“Not only that,” Corbyn continued. “But it’s cheaper—much cheaper—to find an artifact than to pay for a new one.”
“It’s about money then,” I said.
“It’s always about money with Wasslehook,” Hen said. “Although I think he’d be better off getting a better recipe book. Here.”
She tossed the book back to me. Caught off guard, I nearly dropped it, causing a couple folded papers to drop out.
“Whoops, sorry,” she said as I stooped to pick them up.
Curious, I carefully unfolded the delicate paper and inspected it by the light of the multicolored glowing orbs that were floating in the street. “It’s a letter,” I said.
“Read it! I hope it’s a hammy love note,” Hen said.
I cleared my throat and started reading.
Dear Annyahnabreth,
Hen and James immediately snorted.
“Come on, it’s not that bad!” I said.
“No, it is. It really is,” James said, still snickering. I hurried on.
I know you have confronted much persecution during the course of the past score of years since last I had the privilege of your company. As you might divine yourself, I have long chosen to forbear from being seen in your midst knowing that being seen with “Arnold the Awkward” as I understand the people of New Prescott now call me, will do nothing to bolster the family reputation.
I felt a chill of excitement pass through me. This was written by Arnold? Could this hint at a location for the pearls? Maybe even confirm that the dwarves had them?
I wish to set the record straight for until now, I have yet to tell a single soul the entire truth about what has happened, and the reason for the fall of Prescott.
I have been painted as the villain in this tale, for none know of the evil thing which Sigourney the great Sorceress has done. My tale begins when we were both 15. It was discovered that the two of us had some skill with Runasimi, and thus we were apprenticed to Timothy the Great Tinkerer of Prescott, perhaps the greatest Tinkerer the Northern Colony has ever known . . . until Sigourney.
I flipped the page around and eagerly continued.
She and I were the closest of companions in those days. Her skill with Runasimi was far greater than my own and I learnt everything I knew from her. In fact, I don’t think I would have been apprenticed to Timothy had it not been for her.
Sigourney and I detested the reign of Emperor Pugsly. You were yet an infant but he was indeed as terrible as you’ve doubtless heard. We were determined to overthrow him, which is how we conceived of the Pearls of Prescott—an object that would lead the wearer to what they desired most. What we desired most was to be free of him. I did not realize we’d end up replacing him with someone worse.
We began developing the Pearls of Prescott. This artifact, could be one of the most powerful magical objects ever created. Besides leading the wearer to what they most desire, many believe that the pearls sparked the most successful era that the Northern Colony has ever known and on the outside it may appear so. I believe that I am the only one alive now who knows its most powerful, most evil ability. It can
I turned to the last page.
thwarted in my attempt I determined to create decoys and leave them in places where I thought unworthy searchers might seek to find them.
“Pause the livestream, Santiago. You skipped something,” James said.
I shuffled the two sheets around, but the back of the page I was currently reading was blank.
“There must be another page somewhere, because this is all I have,” I said.
James, Hen, and I took turns rifling through the journal but couldn’t find anything.
“Is the letter dated?” James asked.
“Nope,” I said, checking it over.
“It sounds like it was a couple decades after Pugsly bit the dust,” Hen said. “What does the end of the letter say?”
“It just says, ‘I hope the time never comes when it is necessary to bring this evil to the light of day again. But if the time does come during your lifetime, just remember to turn this whole story upside down. Love, your brother Arnold.’”
Something about that line struck me as familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
“Doesn’t this seem a bit coincidental?” James piped up.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Wasslehook—he seems, like a con artist.”
“I suppose so,” I said, hesitantly, not sure where he was going with this.
James glared at me. “Oh come on, Santiago, he described those krank things as, and I quote, ‘cute little rodents.’”
Hen wheezed in delight. “You guys fell for that?! Oh man, he got you guys good.”
James scowled at her before continuing. “As I was saying, he doesn’t seem like the type of character who would care about his great great aunt whoever’s secret diary. And I doubt that it’s even a good source of information on artifacts. I think he wants that letter.”
“How would he know it even existed?” Hen asked.
“A good question,” James said.
“Unless he has the other page,” I murmured as the idea popped into my head.
James and Hen both were quiet, contemplating the idea.
“I mean, it’s a long shot,” I admitted, when neither of them spoke. “But it would definitely put him on the lookout.”
“It’s a long shot that makes a lot of sense,” James said. “If he had a page of that letter, he might have a better idea of what the pearls can do. He might be interested in finding them for himself.”
“Or in selling the information,” Hen said. “Wasslehook isn’t one to get his manicured fingernails dirty.”
“Does he really get them manicured?” James asked curiously.
“Have you seen them? They’re almost as nice as my sister’s,” Hen said with a tone of disdain, although I couldn’t tell if that was directed toward Wasslehook or her sister.
“If we give Wasslehook this letter, he will probably use it to try to figure out where the pearls are then sell that information,” I summed up.
“I’d say almost definitely,” Hen said.
“And let’s face it, we don’t have anything of enough value to buy that information from him,” James said.
We all were quiet for a moment.
“Do we really need that other page to find the pearls?” Hen asked.
“I suppose we could try to find them without it,” I said.
“Knowing what the Pearls do could help us deduce where to search,” James argued. Then, pointing to the letter, he said, “Hand me those.”
“And while we sit around, scratching our heads over this, Misty is off using their family fortune to buy twice as many clues from the likes of Wasslehook,” Hen said as I passed the pages over to James. “They may have even put him up to this.”
“Her family is rich?” I questioned as James took pictures of the letter.
“And famous,” Hen said. “The whole colony knows them.”
“What’s next then?” James asked.
“We go to Wasslehook,” I said, hoping I sounded much more decisive than I felt. “We can’t do anything until we talk to him.”
A few minutes later, we approached the bar at Wasslehook’s, only to find him in a conversation with a man who was visibly upset.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Muntz, but our refund policy is clear. Satisfaction is not guaranteed. However, since I like your family so much, I am willing to give you a 5% discount on your next hat adventure.”
Wasslehook handed a sheet of paper to the man who grudgingly took it and ambled off.
“Another happy customer, Wasslehook?” Hen asked.
“Hen, it’s been far too long!” Wasslehook said.
“My dad says he’ll never set foot in here again,” Hen said with a shrug. “I swear I hear him growl every time I mention your name. I do it as much as I can.”
“Such an unfortunate misunderstanding. Please let him know nothing would make me happier than to make it up to him. So Seer, how did your little adventure go?”
“You’ll be happy to know the ‘cute little rodents’ are taken care of,” James said coolly.
“Wonderful. And did you happen to find the other thing?”
“Before we get to that, can we look at what you were going to give us?”
Wasslehook’s grin didn’t falter but when he spoke, his voice sounded more strained. “Of course!”
He led us into the showroom again.
“Thanks again for your help with the kranks. You’ll never know how much I appreciate it. Now, our agreement was an exchange of services, right? So in exchange for your help in eliminating the kranks, I agree to help you select a present for Bess.”
“I beg to differ,” James said. “We agreed to help you in exchange for one of the three objects we mentioned earlier.”
“Wait a moment now,” Wasslehook said. “I specifically remember agreeing to an exchange of services. A magical artifact is not a service.”
“Neither is a journal.”
“You did find the journal then?” Wasslehook looked like he was trying really hard to appear disinterested.
“I didn’t say that,” James said. “But assuming we had found it, I assure you we wouldn’t be exchanging it for a mere service when we were led to believe we’d be getting our choice of the objects we mentioned earlier.”
Gosh, I was glad James was on my side. Wasslehook seemed to be considering James as though for the first time.
“Obviously, you’re completely overestimating the value of the journal,” Wasslehook said. “It’s a family heirloom—that’s all!”
“Funny thing about that journal,” Hen interjected. “Annyahnabreth Bloomberry seems like such a human name.”
“Mostly,” James said.
“Same last name as me. I didn’t know you had human ancestry, Wasslehook,” Hen said.
“Now now, no need to be insulting,” Wasslehook said with a laugh. “You humans always take things so literally.”
“You said she was your great-grandmother,” I said. “Is there a nonliteral way to take that?”
“Of course there is. She was like a great grandmother to me, but not by bloodlines, but by heart.”
“Uh huh,” James said. “Well, your non-literal great-grandmother’s journal will cost you a literal suit of armor.”
“The whole suit of armor for a journal? This isn’t one of your Underland thrift shops, you know.”
“Fine. Give us the torch and we’ll give you the journal.”
Wasslehook seemed to think about it, looking displeased. Finally, he said, “Fine. Because you’re the new Seer, I’ll do you a favor. Just don’t go spreading it around how ludicrously generous I was.”
“I don’t think you’ll ever have to worry about that happening,” James said.
Wasslehook walked over to the suit of armor, took the torch, and handed it to me.
“Thank you,” I said, handing him the journal. He eyed it with delight.
We made as if to leave, then, as we’d discussed, I called back, “I feel like I should be thanking you, Wasslehook. We found some helpful papers with the journal.”
“Papers?” Wasslehook asked distractedly, thumbing through the journal. Then he stopped and looked up at us with a stunned expression on his face. “What sort of papers?”
“A letter to your figurative great-grandmother,” James said.
“It’s too bad it was missing a page,” I said.
“We’d probably be willing to trade the other two pages for that one,” James added.
Wasslehook’s smile was gone. “I guarantee you the other owner isn’t interested in a trade.”
“Who is it?” Hen asked.
“I don’t know. He was a Sombra.”