When I finished my insane story 30 minutes later, I looked at him anxiously, waiting for him to call me crazy.
“Hmm.”
“Hmm?” I repeated, massaging my thighs. “You believe me then?”
“Do you have one of those tiny books?” he asked, either not hearing my question or ignoring it. Probably ignoring it.
I pulled Deleea’s books out of my pocket and set them on the desk next to him. He picked one up and flipped through it.
“18th Century Human/Dwarf Trade Disputes?” he read, squinting. He sounded incredulous, but James sounded incredulous most of the time.
“James,” I said, my voice raising. “Do you believe me?!”
He looked up from the book. “Santiago. We were just besieged in our bedroom by a harpy.” When I continued looking at him expectantly, he added. “I believe you.”
Air hissed out of my mouth and my shoulders loosened for what felt like the first time since last Saturday.
“Good thing too—it all sounds ludicrous. Hear some of these names. Hawkshead the Horrendous, Gavin the Unforgettable. . . .” he flipped a page. “Sigourney the Great Sorceress, Henry the Homely Hobo, Arnold the Awkward, Mordrick the. . . .”
“Wait—did you say Arnold the Awkward?”
“Yeah, it’s right here in one of the headings,” James said. “That’s just about the only part I can read in these.”
“Here,” I said, fishing the magnifying glass out of my pocket and handing it to him. “Read it, would you?”
It would’ve been contrary to James’s nature to refuse a chance to perform. With gusto, he read:
Although dwarves rejected meetings with humans, there was a notable exception. Despite being shunned by his own people, Arnold Bloomberry (often called Arnold the Awkward) was not only invited by the dwarves of Firebelly’s Peak to live in their domain but was pronounced “a friend to all dwarves.” No other human has received this honorific since then.
“Whoever wrote this can make even the most interesting subject dull as sin,” James said.
“How did he do it?” I asked eagerly.
“I imagine he thought to himself, how can I take this fascinating topic and make it boring? Or maybe being boring was just his personality–”
“Not him, Arnold!”
James turned a page and continued reading.
How Arnold established this rapport is unknown, but he is rumored to have given the dwarves a gift of great value. Many colony ambassadors have also attempted to deliver gifts, but none have been accepted. Indeed, Lawrence Jumper tried on more than a dozen occasions to deliver gifts of increasing value, ranging from the crown jewels of Ireland to the lost scrolls of Merlin, finally culminating in 1911 with more than 700 hundred bejeweled, self-picking picks. Mr. Jumper recounted being chased down the mountain by “the basest mob ever encountered, hurling a slew of the most bedazzled of weapons along with exceedingly vile suggestions of what I ought to do with them.”
“You think dwarves have these Prescott Pearls?” James asked after finishing.
“What if that’s the gift he gave them?” I grabbed my backpack.
“Where are you going?” James asked.
“This is the best lead I’ve had yet. I better tell Bess.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“They said I’d get in trouble if I told anyone.”
“You didn’t tell me. A harpy accosted us in our bedroom. I drew my own conclusions.”
“I don’t think that would make a difference,” I said.
“There’s nothing you can do to stop me, short of shackling me to the bunkbed. If you go, I go.”
I made a big show of sighing but was secretly glad he was insisting. I opened the chest and he said, “After you.”
I shrugged and dropped through the barrier, feeling the bizarre sensation of gravity shifting as I pulled myself out on the other side. I looked around, keeping an eye out for the harpy but didn’t see anything. A few moments later, I watched James’s blond head pop out of the chest. I wondered what it must be like for my brother to literally dive into a new world. Then I realized that I had done the same only a few days ago.
“An alley. How magical,” James said sarcastically as he dusted himself off, appraising his surroundings.
“What did you expect?” I asked.
“Perhaps something a bit more enchanting. Like a cottage in the woods or a castle.”
“There’s a talking clock over there,” I said, pointing to Mr. Chronshaw as we walked down the alley.
“I stand corrected,” James said dryly. “I’ve always wanted a clock that can tell me how late I am.”
“Are you?” Mr. Chronshaw asked.
“Whoa!” James said, jumping back. “It’s a talking clock!”
“Told ya,” I said, grinning.
“You didn’t bother to answer my question, young man,” Mr. Chronshaw repeated. “Are you or are you not late?”
“I’m not sure,” James said, looking uncomfortable.
“That means yes,” the clock said. “There is nothing less tolerable than guests who arrive late.”
“Thanks, Mr. Chronshaw,” I said. “See you later!”
“Remember, a schedule isn’t merely a piece of paper, it’s a hallowed contract that protects society from chaos!” Mr. Chronshaw hollered as we wheeled around the corner.
“Santiago, that clock talked to us,” James said emphatically.
“Enchanting enough for you yet?” I asked as I knocked on Bess’s front door.
“Does everything talk here or just clocks?” James asked. “Can I just say, Excuse me, Miss Door, would you open for us?”
The door opened and James looked momentarily delighted until he saw Bess standing behind it.
“Who’s he?” she asked.
“I’m James, Santiago’s–”
“Step-twin. Got it.” She stood to the side, allowing us to pass.
“The door doesn’t talk then?” James clarified.
Bess grunted but didn’t answer him. Instead, she asked, “So . . . have you worked out old Valentine’s riddle?”
“Wait, what about James? What about that whole thing about me not telling anyone or else . . . I dunno. Bad stuff.”
“Why should I care if some kid knows. It’s not like anyone down there is paying any attention to him.”
I instinctively started toward the chairs, but Bess pointed toward the stairs, so we followed her that way.
“I’ve got a couple hundred followers on social media who would beg to differ!” James said indignantly.
I kicked him. Not the time.
“I stand corrected,” Bess said sarcastically as she led us up the stairs.
James’s cheeks turned pink. “My fans love me. I go live once a week!”
“And how many people did you reach last week?”
“Well, only two,” James admitted. “Everybody’s got to start somewhere.”
“How many of those two people would believe you if you told them there’s a flying invisible island in the sky?”
James grumbled unintelligibly as we reached a landing only to continue up another flight.
“Isn’t this a problem?” I asked when she didn’t say anything.
“Do you want it to be?” Bess asked.
“But I thought Mayor Featherstone–”
“The mayor has her hands full trying to run this place and fill out mounds of paperwork for the Grand First Colonist. She doesn’t want you blabbing it for all the world to hear but I don’t think she’d give a troll’s snot wad that your stepbrother knows about us. Don’t make a big thing of it and she won’t either.”
“OK,” I said hesitantly.
“Now tell me about your progress,” she said as we arrived at yet another landing. How many stories was this place?
“Corbyn and Hen have been helping. I think I’ve got a good lead.”
“Hmmm,” Bess said. I couldn’t tell if that was a note of mild interest or concern in her voice.
“Well, Misty is the one who really found it,” I confessed as we continued trudging up the stairs. “It’s a compass with dwarvish writing on it. Misty was able to do a possession regression on it and found it was Arnold’s.”
“Hmmm,” Bess said again. “It was in the Pop Shop?”
“Yeah, she found it right off,” I said, realizing how incompetent I sounded. Here Misty was finding clues right and left without the mantle while I had to borrow clues from her to make any headway.
We reached a landing at the top of the stairs with three doors. She opened the one on the right and led us outside onto the roof. The space was smaller than my living room and packed with plants of every shape, size, and color. I don’t know what I was expecting to find on Bess Belfry’s roof, but it wasn’t a garden.
“Show her that picture of the compass,” James said.
“Oh yeah,” I said, pulling the image up on my phone.
Bess took one glance at it then rolled her eyes—probably frustrated with me for not being the one to find it.
“You,” she said, pointing to James. “Take that watering pot and feed those Glenberry bushes. And you,” she pointed to me now, “Pull weeds.”
“Great,” James said. “You brought me to a magic flying island so that I could play the illustrious role of Ben Weatherstaff from the Secret Garden.”
“Less theatrics, more work!”
I began pulling tiny yellow starts out of a pot with what looked like a stone plant as Bess produced shears and started clip clip clipping at a tree with neon green leaves. “What did you find in there?” she asked as we settled into a rhythm.
“Just some dirt and–”
“No, in the Pop Shop!”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, there was this mantle thing with a bunch of writing. I think the guy called it The Mandate or something.”
“The Manifesto,” Bess corrected.
“Right. Manifesto. But–” I trailed off, tugging at a vine that started curling around my arm.
“But what?” Bess asked.
I shrugged, struggling against the vine that was now snaking up beyond my shoulder.
“It was a bit depressing. It said the world doesn’t deserve to live or something like that.”
I started to panic as the vine circled around my neck, my hands yanking at it.
“B-Bess?” I gasped as the weed tightened.
“Windervine,” Bess huffed. “You, step-twin, grab the clippers right next to you and cut off the red leaf at the top.”
Having my stepbrother raise large garden shears toward my neck did little to alleviate my anxiety.
“This would be easier if you would hold still,” James said impatiently.
“Just cut the thing!” I wheezed.
I heard a clipping sound and the entire vine instantly withered to dust.
“Next time, clip the red leaf off before it gets frisky,” Bess said as though homicidal weeds were perfectly normal.
A little freaked out, I took the clippers from James and proceeded much more carefully.
“Well, go on,” Bess said. “Tell me more about this mantle and writing.”
In my head, it sounded stupid. When I’d touched it, I sensed Arnold. But how could I recognize a guy who had been dead 200 years?
“I dunno, it just felt like Arnold. Could he have imbued it?”
“Yes,” Bess said. I expected her to say more, but instead she said, “Santiago, let’s get to the point. You’re approaching this wrong.”
My insides twisted. I obviously hadn’t made enough progress on the pearls. What if she’d determined this was all a big mistake, that Misty should be Seer after all and that I should just go back to the Underland?
“I know I haven’t found the pearls yet, but–”
“Forget the pearls. Fate chose you for this job, but you’re ignoring everything fate gives you to do it.”
“Like what? What am I supposed to be doing?!” I asked, fighting to keep the anxiety out of my voice, sure that she was going to tell me I was getting axed.
“Other than dodging harpies and weeds he means,” James interjected.
“Harpies?” Bess repeated.
“A harpy got into our bedroom,” I said hurriedly, hoping to get to that later.
“Where it interrupted my practice,” James added indignantly.
“You’re closing the portal every time you cross?”
“Both sides,” I said.
“So how do you think it got in?”
“The harpy opened the lid itself?” I said, not liking the other alternative.
“No, idiot boy. Those things are dumber than a stone quarry.”
“Obviously, someone let it in,” James said.
“But why?” I asked. “Wouldn’t that risk exposing the flyland to the Underland?”
“Yup.”
“So somebody is trying to sabotage Santiago,” James said. “Maybe scare him or distract him.”
“Regardless, you’re plodding along right where Valentine wants you to go while doing your best to ignore what Fate has given you. Tell me, what has fate given you?”
“Nothing,” I said.
Bess sighed heavily as if dealing with a toddler. “Santiago. You’re clever enough to figure out there’s more going on here than meets the eye. Search for the Pearls if you must, but don’t let them get in the way of actually being a Seer.”
“Do you know a gift the dwarves might accept so that I can ask them about the pearls?” I asked.
Bess sighed again. “An elf named Wasslehook has something that might interest the dwarves. It’s called the Torch of Purity. Wasslehook is a scoundrel. The moment he learns it’s of value, he’ll quadruple the price. You’ll need a strategy.”