Dragon's Met
Part Six
by peregrin anna
c. 2001


(Disclaimers and notes may be found on the introductory page .)





Chapter  38

Behind you swiftly the figure comes softly,
The spot on your skin is a shocking disease.
           Clutching a little case,
He walks out briskly to infect a city
Whose terrible future may have just arrived.
             ~ W. H. Auden


"Is he--did he--"  Frozen just inside the doorway, Gary couldn't even get the question out.  He'd been so sure that Morgelyn's cure would work, but if Anna hadn't given the child the medicine, or if the father had found it...

His heart thudded in his chest as he crossed the tiny room and knelt next to the pair.  "Morgelyn?"

"Shhh."  She swiped her hand across her cheeks.  "Tolan will be well now.  His fever is broken, the cough has lessened, and he is sleeping peacefully.  He will be well," she repeated softly, stroking the boy's hair.

Letting out a long, slow breath, Gary rocked back.  "Thank God."  He didn't want to think about what it would have done to Morgelyn, what it would have done to them both, if the child had died.  

"Yes."  The boy stirred, and Morgelyn hummed a few more bars, rocking him in her arms.  "He just needs to rest until he regains his strength."  

Gary watched for a few more seconds, then said quietly, "You should have told us where you were going."

"You would have tried to stop me--not that you would have succeeded."  She flashed him a tense, apologetic smile.  "I had to know how he fared."

Though he nodded, Gary couldn't keep his glance from darting to the doorway, and his whisper wasn't just for the sake of Tolan's rest.  "Now that you know, do you think we can get out of here?  Even if he's okay, I don't think his father will be thrilled if he comes back here and finds you."

"There is naught to worry about now, Gary."  Morgelyn lay Tolan down on the pile of straw and smoothed his forehead as he curled in on himself.  "Anna will not lose another child."

"Anna's not the one I'm worried about here," Gary muttered.  He spotted a rough woolen blanket bunched up at the end of the straw, and pulled it up over Tolan.  "Father Ezekiel was asking about you just now.  He guessed you'd be here, and he might not be the only one.  I don't think you should stay."  He stood, brushing dirty bits of straw and rushes off his pants.  With another nervous look over his shoulder, he held out his hand.

"Oh, Gary, please do not begin this fretting.  You sound like Fergus, and you will ruin this lovely day."  Nevertheless, Morgelyn let him pull her to her feet.  

"I don't want to ruin anything," Gary said, still whispering, "but I think we may have more trouble."  

Finally, Morgelyn tore her gaze away from the sleeping boy and cocked her head at Gary, and he started to tell her what had happened at Nia's stall.  Morgelyn's shoulders hitched up defensively when he mentioned Mark Styles and Simon Elder, so he only told her about Styles's cough, leaving out what they'd said about her.  That would ruin the day.

"If Mark is sick, it is unfortunate, but not a trouble," Morgelyn said when he'd finished.  Her shoulders relaxed, and Gary would have sworn she'd been holding her breath.  "We know now what can cure it.  I can make more of the draughts I sent with you yesterday, and when he sees that his son is well, Mark will understand that I meant no harm.  He will take the cure and recover."  She sounded sure of the outcome, though Gary still felt doubtful about Styles's ability to change his mind, let alone his heart. With a satisfied nod, she crossed to the door and held the curtain open.  They both blinked at the strong light that flooded the tiny hut.  "But you are right; we should go.  I want to find Robert and make sure he is better, too."

"But what if--what if Mark won't take the stuff?"  Gary cast one more worried look at Tolan, still sleeping soundly, before he joined Morgelyn.

"Then Anna can put it in his soup," she said with a chuckle.  "There is no need to worry, Gary.  I know these people.  This is my home.  They will not hold to a grudge once they see it was ill-founded."  

They stepped out into the bright sunshine, and with that, Morgelyn's confidence, and his newfound information about local news operations, Gary found that he was inclined to relief, if not optimism.  His explanation of what he'd learned from Declan, and the young man's resemblance to McGinty's newest bartender, had Morgelyn laughing as they picked their way around the periphery of the fair, headed for Fergus's spot.  

"You think this is funny?"  Gary grumbled in mock indignation.  "I'm starting to get whiplash every time I turn around.  Next thing I know my third grade teacher's gonna show up, or my cousin Linda."  

"Perhaps this is just God's way of making you feel at home."  Morgelyn told him.  "Is there anyone else we can conjure up for you?  Brothers or sisters?"

"Hmm..." Gary drawled.  "I don't have any of those, but I used to have this dog when I was a kid--"

They both saw it at the same time and stopped few yards from the cluster of tables outside the tavern.  Gary cursed himself for not paying more attention to where they'd been headed.  A staggering Mark Styles was leaning on his friend Simon, and despite his obviously weakened--and thoroughly drunk--condition, he was bellowing at his wife.  

"You left him alone?  Woman, you have become the village idiot!"

Cowering before the men, her bruise bright purple in the sunlight , Anna clutched a basket tightly to her chest.  "I--I did not, I--"

So much for the age of chivalry.  Wanting, needing to do something to stop the hideous scene, Gary took a tentative step forward, but something brushed his leg--Morgelyn's skirt.  "No--" he hissed, snatching at her arm, but she was out of his reach, striding determinedly toward her friend.  Gary followed, searching the crowd around them, hoping for Fergus's quick words and bravado, or for Father Ezekiel's stern sanity.  Neither man was in sight.  Around them a few heads turned, but mostly the other villagers were bent on their own errands, their own fun.  

"Anna!"  Morgelyn's tone was forced but cheerful, and when he saw that she'd pasted on a smile, not nearly as genuine as before, Gary tried to do the same.  But he kept watching the two glowering men for any signs of movement.

"Anna, all is well," Morgelyn said, and when she met the other woman's wary eyes, her smile warmed up again.  "Tolan is past the worst of his illness.  He is sleeping soundly now, and the cough is gone."

Anna's face was a kaleidoscope of emotions--Gary saw hope as she took in Morgelyn's words, fear as she glanced back at her husband, and then a spark of courage, mixed with relief.  She threw her arms around Morgelyn.  "Thank you."

Morgelyn hugged her back, and asked, in a pointed tone that was meant for everyone within earshot, "And you, Anna?  How do you fare?"

Shaking her head, Anna would have stepped away, but Morgelyn kept a protective hand on her friend's arm.  Mark shrugged Simon off and tottered toward the women.  Gary matched him, positioning himself at Morgelyn's elbow.  Around them, the day held its breath; the festival sounds fell away.

"Go back to the house, wife," Mark growled.  He put a hand on her shoulder, and would have said--or maybe done--more, but a fit of coughing overtook him, and he bent nearly double.  Anna turned to him, her expression alarmed.  

"Mark," Morgelyn began, holding out a hand in his direction, "you are ill."  Her tone was measured, her face a mask, hiding everything that had happened in the past day or so.  Gary was glad he'd at least been able to prepare her for this.  "There is more of the brew I sent for Tolan at your cottage.  I think you should take it and rest.  Go back with Anna; I can send you more if you need it."  

"Anna is going back alone to tend to my son.  Now!" Styles croaked.  Jumping like a frightened rabbit, Anna spun around and scurried back toward the cottage.  Gary could feel his fist clenching again.  Convention or not, no matter what the time period, he couldn't stand bullying.  He just wished he knew how to stop it without getting Morgelyn into more trouble.

"Please, Mark, I only want to help you."  Morgelyn's back was stiff; no one here was about to relax.  "I know that if you will only try the cure--"

"Never," Mark said between coughs.

"You ought to listen to the lady," said Gary, and earned himself a venomous glare.  "She knows what she's talking about."

"And who are you to tell me what to do, stranger?"  Straightening up as his coughing fit passed, Mark gave Gary the same withering, dismissive glance he'd landed on his wife.  "You don't even belong here."

"But you know me, Mark," Morgelyn said.  "Please, you must try--"

Simon stepped past his wheezing friend and stared down at Morgelyn with pure malice in his pale eyes.  "You want him to drink your foul, poisoned--"

"It is neither.  It is there to help him, just as it has helped his child."  Impatience leaked through Morgelyn's reasoned words.  Gary grabbed hold of her sleeve and pulled her back a step.  He was watching both men for sudden moves, for more knives.  

Mark smirked and pointed at Morgelyn's arm.  "I have marked you as a witch," he said, his voice ragged and hoarse.  "Why should you help me?"

Footsteps shuffled in the dirt behind them, but Gary didn't dare take his eyes off Mark and Morgelyn to see who it was.  He tightened his grip on Morgelyn's sleeve, torn between the pull to run from danger and his baser instinct--to just lay the guy flat out on the ground with one good punch, to beat some sense and manners into him.    

"Because Anna is my friend, and you are her husband, and Toluene's father.  You are important to them--"

"Bah!"  Mark spat into the dust at their feet, then turned toward his friend.  "I am no weakling boy.  Simon, come.  I think ale a better cure than this woman's venom."

"He will kill himself with drink," Morgelyn whispered under her breath.  She made a move to follow, but Gary held fast to her arm.

"He won't listen to you."

"He has to--Anna needs him.  Mark!"  Morgelyn shouted at his back.

"Come on, let's go."  Gary tried to tug her around in the other direction, but it was like trying to move a boulder.  She shook his hand off.  

"Mark, you will die if you do not  do as I say!"

Everyone around them stopped and stared.  Mark and Simon both turned back, and Morgelyn covered her mouth with her hand.

Too late, Gary thought.  Way too late.

"What did you say?"  The low voice came from behind Gary.  He spun around and found himself face to face with Father Ezekiel.  The priest's eyes were boring a hole into Morgelyn.

"F-Father--I was trying to tell Mark--"  Impatience and command had vanished from her voice, and Gary felt fear clutching at his back.  How could they not have understood what she meant?

Maybe because they didn't want to.

Styles stormed back, jabbing an accusing finger in Morgelyn's direction.  "You heard her, Father!  She has cursed me.  You are my witness."

"No, it wasn't like that," Gary broke in.  He took a half step that put himself in Ezekiel's line of sight, trying to draw some of the accusation in the man's unnerving gaze away from Morgelyn.  "She was just telling him to take the medicine she made.  He's sick, that's why she said that."  Father Ezekiel, of all people, had to believe Gary.  At the very least, he had to believe Morgelyn, who stood biting her lower lip so hard it was turning white, pleading for trust with the look she fixed on the priest.  Crumb would have trusted them, Gary thought, scrabbling for any scrap of hope.  Crumb wouldn't have been able to stand it if Marissa turned a look on him like that one, afraid he wouldn't believe her, afraid he'd betray her.  Zeke Crumb, ex-Chicago cop and all-around tough guy, would have caved like a hollow snow bank at one blink of a look like that.

But this guy wasn't Crumb.  And though he was measuring Morgelyn with an expression as cold as snow, he showed no sign of caving.

"Tolan is well now, Father," Morgelyn said quietly, carefully.  "He is going to live."  She and Gary both jumped at the words that exploded from the other side.

"She said that she wanted me to die!"  Mark's angry defiance threatened to sever the fragile connection between Morgelyn and Ezekiel.  

"That is not what she said!" Gary retorted.

Simon had sauntered back to the little group, and he turned his glare full on Gary.  "Once again, Morgelyn, this stranger interferes on your behalf.  Did you conjure him up along with your false cures and curses?"

"Of course she didn't," Gary said hurriedly, trying to cover Morgelyn's faint gasp.  He turned to Father Ezekiel.  "All she said was--"

"I heard what was said."  The priest's expression was stern and unwavering, his glance barely flickering to Styles.  "As for you, Mark, I suggest you stop worrying about witchcraft and take to your bed.  Anna has had enough grief to last many years, and you should not give her cause for more."

"Anna is a weak, useless *woman*."  Styles hocked, as if he was going to spit again, but Gary moved, almost imperceptibly, insinuating himself between the sick man and his friend.  Mark's eyes shifted around the little group, and he shrugged, without an iota less bravado.  "Come, Simon.  The air around here is beginning to stink."

Gary drew in a breath; for once in his life he had a good comeback ready.  But then he looked at Morgelyn's worried face, and the curious way Father Ezekiel continued to stare at her, and decided it would be better not to aggravate the situation.  He waited until the men were out of earshot before he muttered, "It wouldn't stink so bad if he kept his mouth shut."

"I have advised caution to you both already," Father Ezekiel said sternly.  He nodded at Gary.  "I am glad to see that one of you, at least, was listening."

"Father--"  Morgelyn held out her hand still pleading, but he simply turned and walked away, shaking his head.  

Gary felt a breeze shifting the hair on the back of his head--and something more.  There it was again, that sensation of being watched--observed and studied, like a bug in an ant farm.  He turned toward the milling crowd around the tavern, and spotted bright purple in the midst of the villagers' garb.  While the festival colors were almost garish, desperate attempts to liven up the place, this was a regal, rich, deep jewel of a violet.

Lady Nessa.  Had she been the one watching him earlier?  But she smiled when their eyes met, warm and inviting, and Gary found himself smiling back in spite of himself.  Maybe it was the fact that all the other smiles around him had disappeared.  Nessa turned, said something to one of the younger women who flocked around her, and they walked off.  If someone really had been watching him, it must not have been her.

Morgelyn was still staring after the priest, and hadn't noticed Nessa at all.  "'Twill be all right," she murmured--then blinked, and though the smile she forced at Gary was wry, her eyes were as determined as ever.  "Anna knows, and she will make sure he gets the herbs."

They were still too close to the tavern, Gary thought; with a light touch on her elbow, he steered Morgelyn in the direction of Fergus's tree.  "Let me ask you something," he said, throwing a furtive glance back at the tavern.  "Why do any of you care about that guy?"

"Gary!"  Morgelyn pulled back and looked up at him in alarm.  "How can you even ask that?"

He spread his arms wide.  She had to know what he meant.  "He's obnoxious, he's a bully, he treats his wife like dirt, and he's not any nicer to you.  So why are you trying so hard to help him, when he doesn't want to be helped?"  He was still angry enough at Styles to quash the tiny, guilty voice in his head that said his question sounded like something Chuck would have asked.

Morgelyn lifted her hand in a wide sweep that took in the village, the fair, the people milling everywhere.  "He is one of us, and we can hardly afford to lose another person to illness, after so many deaths.  But even if the pestilence had not come, he is a human being, and he should not have to suffer.  Surely you understand that."

"I do, I--I understand the principle," Gary backtracked as they came in view of Fergus's tree.  A crowd had gathered, and he seemed to be doing a brisk business.  "But this guy Mark is--you saw Anna's face, you know what he did to her, and yesterday, when he--look, I just--I don't want him to hurt anyone again, especially not you."

Morgelyn stopped, sighed, and crossed her arms in front of her.  "I know, Gary.  But you must understand; if Anna is left a widow, there will be no one to care for her.  Her family died in the pestilence.  She cannot work the farm all by herself, and with a child to care for--I know not how they would live."  Rubbing her arm, she let out another heavy breath.   "Mark and Simon were not always like this.  I do not know where these insane ideas are coming from.  But she needs him."

Gary looked away for a second, the skin on his arms crawling at the thought of the compromises Anna Styles must have had to make just to survive.  "Well, then, I guess we're going to have to change his ideas."  They resumed their path through the colors and flowers, the people and animals, the combination of all the village had to offer.

Morgelyn inclined her head toward the little group under the tree.  "Please do not speak of this to Fergus.  He will only chide and worry at me, and I have had enough of that to last a very long time."

"My lips are sealed," Gary promised.  

Morgelyn tilted her head with a confused frown for just a second, then her features cleared in understanding.  "If that is true," she asked with a faint smile, "then speaking must be quite difficult for you.  Thank you for coming to my defense in spite of your tribulation."

"It's the least I could do," he said, hoping he'd be able to do better than "least" the next time around.





Chapter 39

You can cough out the city, you can change your old clothes
You can soften your accent so nobody knows
But whenever I'm honest, something in me
Still looks for fresh water that feels like the sea
          ~ Carrie Newcomer


A few hours after leaving Marissa's place, Chuck still didn't know what to do with himself.  He'd driven all over downtown, trying to find some place that felt comfortable.  Wasn't that the point of coming home?  But he hadn't come across a single spot that wasn't tainted with painfully sharp memories.  The coffee hadn't done anything for his state of mind; even blasting the radio didn't help.  Every song that didn't stink matched his own gloomy thoughts far too closely for comfort.

"Adia, I do believe I failed you,
Adia, I know I let you down--"

"Near, far, whereeevvv--"

Ugh.  

"...fight the tears that ain't coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies,
Yeah you bleed just to--"

"I get knocked down, but I get up again!
No you're never gonna keep me down--"

"...that my heart will go--"

Maybe the oldies station.

"Help!  I need somebody.
Help! You know I need someone--"

Or not.

"Yippee yi yo, yippee yi ye,
Wanna bump your body--"

Chuck snorted.  Finally one that didn't scrape against his exhausted nerves--but he still didn't want to hear it.  Didn't anybody play The Boss anymore?  He slammed his palm onto the "power" button in abject disgust, and watched the landmarks zip past him as he pushed harder on the accelerator.  Speed climbing, wind rushing in through the open windows, that part was okay--until he blinked and realized the traffic ahead was stopped for a red light.  He nearly put the brake pedal through the floor, and he left half the tread of the tires on the road.  The rental squealed to a stop no more than an inch from the bumper of the school bus in front of him.

Sucking in deep, diesel-laden breaths, Chuck tried to ignore the rugrats in the bus and the hideous faces they twisted at him.  He pried his fingers off the wheel, looked over at the street signs to try to figure out where he was and why it seemed familiar, and realized, with a start almost as great as that from the near-accident, that this was the spot where Gary, out of nowhere, had sprawled across the hood of his Lexus, and kept him from being broadsided by a ramshackle truck.

No one would ever throw himself at his car to save his life again.  Those kids, sticking out tongues and putting fingers in their ears and noses at him, they might have been hurt--he'd been a split second away from ramming their bus, and no one would have been there to stop him.

He had to stop, somewhere, anywhere.   Before someone got hurt.  

He gave himself over to autopilot, and, a few minutes later, found a parking place.  He ended up in the one spot he'd been avoiding all along: a green wooden bench, facing the lake.

Gary's bench.

That lake.  

Chuck shivered as he lowered himself onto the seat, shoving his hands into the soft suede pockets of his jacket.  When he was a little kid, he would hang out at Jackson Park Beach with his cousins, and they'd pretend it was the ocean, but really, Lake Michigan was nothing like the Pacific.  He loved California, loved the sunshine and bright blue ocean and the beach babes that went with them.  Now that he had those things, now that so much had happened right here, he should, by rights, hate this place.  Really hate this lake.  It was too cold, too grey.

What the hell had Gary been doing out here, anyway?   Chuck had never understood why his friend had felt the need to sit and sulk through every ridiculous phase of weather Chicago could whip up.  Take today, for example--too many clouds, too low and thick on the horizon, winter's chill invading the crisp  end of October.  

But that was Gary.  He'd never taken the easy way, even when it came to brooding.  Still, even now, Chuck had to admit that he saw some of the appeal.  From here, Chicago was only a skyline.  Faceless.  The lake was its end, a period to the run-on sentences of gnarled traffic, incessant noise, and constant hustle and hassle.  It didn't ask for anything; it didn't make demands.  Here, he could turn his back on it.

Maybe that had been why Gary came here.  He'd lived the past couple of years immersed in the faces, the traffic, the noise, the need.  There'd been no end to what Chicago, via the paper, had asked of him.  Hell, even when he'd been knocked on his butt, or just plain knocked out, Gary kept trying to save people.  And, like those trick birthday candles that re-lit themselves just when they'd been blown out, the paper had kept right on giving Gary people to save.  Nothing he'd done had ever been enough.  No wonder he'd appreciated the steely water and its undemanding monotony.  

Enough to throw himself into it?  No.  No, that just wasn't possible.  It wasn't Gary, and Chuck was sorry he'd ever intimated as much to Marissa.  

He was sorry about a lot of things.

Sighing into the wind, he forced himself to look to his left, where he could make out activity on the pier.  Orange and navy blue figures went back and forth, boats traced zigzags in the water, but from this distance, nothing that was happening up there made much sense.  

None of this made sense.  Chuck averted his gaze, afraid that if he looked too long he really would see something he understood or recognized.  Couldn't have that, now, could we?, asked an annoying little voice that sounded suspiciously like a cross between his Great-aunt Gracie's and Jiminey Cricket's.  Can't stand to face reality, can you?

Hell, he told the voice, he was not the one who needed a reality check.  Marissa still believed that cockamamie theory of hers, that Gary was alive somewhere, and if that was realistic, then he was the prince of Brunei.  Besides, she was the one who'd decided to shut him out--maybe gently, certainly for kind reasons--but he had seen the look in her eyes early this morning, the way her face closed off when she had decided not to involve him in this any further.  It was what he'd dreaded all along: he didn't belong anymore.  Even if, by some incredible stretch of the imagination, Gary wasn't--well, gone--Marissa had decided that Chuck wasn't going to be any help.  Not to her, not to Gary.  

It hurt more than Chuck had expected it to, more than he wanted to admit.  Wasn't he Gary's best friend?  

"Shit," he muttered out loud, startling a squirrel that sat across the path from him.  It scurried away, and Chuck stood, kicking gravel across the sidewalk.  He turned away from the sight of the pier and started walking south, back toward the city, toward his car.  

Some best friend, said the voice.

"Shut up," Chuck retorted, then realized, when the teenager doing an octopus number on her boyfriend stopped to stare at him as they passed, that talking to himself could get him in trouble.  

His conscience, if that's what it was, didn't seem to care.

You could have saved him.  You could have been here.  You could have been helping him all along.  

I help people, too, he retorted--silently this time.  He couldn't quite believe that he was having an inner dialog in the middle of roller bladers and bicyclists.  I'm making a name for myself, and pretty soon I'll be making quality shows.  People need to be entertained.  I helped that old lady, last spring without even knowing who she was.

You helped her because you wanted to even out your karma.  

His reasons didn't matter.  He'd done a good deed, and she had been grateful; grateful enough to offer him a reward.

What's up with that? the voice nagged.  You help one person, one time, and you're set for life--or at least for a wild night in Vegas and six months or so in LA.  Gary helped everybody, all the time, it was all he ever did.  What did he get out of it?  

"Shit!"  There was real venom in Chuck's voice this time, and he didn't care who heard it.  He kicked a rock the size of his big toe down the sidewalk, and it landed in the path of a skateboarder, who popped off his wheels and ended up in a heap on the grass.  

Chuck stared at the kid, unable to move.  He was a walking time bomb.  He was gonna blow.  At Gary, at the universe, at Lucius Snow and the entire Sun-Times operation, at that damn Cat, sitting there staring at him like he was supposed to do something--

Shit.  Again, shit.  That was--it couldn't be.  Stock-still in the middle of the path, Chuck couldn't take his eyes off the cat, not even when the skateboarder deliberately knocked against his shoulder and growled, "Thanks for nothing, asshole," as he passed.  Sitting primly under a tree just off the path, pinning Chuck with its emerald eyes, Cat waited until the boy was out of hearing before meowing.   

It could have been any cat.  It didn't have to be that cat.  Chuck squared his shoulders, took two steps past the tree, and was surprised to find the tabby blocking his path.

"How--"  He looked back at the tree, but there weren't two cats.  Just this one.  Just Gary's--no, Snow's--

"Meow."

"No."  Hands still shoved in his pockets, Chuck glanced up at the sky, informing it and the cat, "You are not gonna do this to me.  You don't have to be Gary's cat at all."  He'd never gotten along with the damn thing, so why would it show up now, like some sign from above?

And why the hell was he so prepared to believe that's what it was?  

Maybe because it reached out to scratch his ankle with angry, sharp claws when he tried, once more, to stomp past it.  

Maybe because he'd heard that irritated rowling too many times to ever completely get it out of his head.

Maybe, in the end, because he wanted to.

"All right," he said, gritting his teeth so the passers-by wouldn't see his lips moving--he still had some pride left, after all--"All right, what ?"  He was not, no way, gonna get his hopes up.  It was too far to fall twice.  

Still, when the cat left the path, Chuck followed, his feet leaden, his legs stiff, because he realized where they were going.  Crossing the uneven ground to the water's edge, they halted at the  concrete embankment that stood sentinel between the city of Chicago and her lake.  Chuck's stomach lurched with a sudden gust of wind.  It would be the ultimate irony if he found Gary; the paper's, the cat's--someone's--final act of revenge.  

"No.  I don't want to find him, not like this."  But it was useless to inform the cat of his wishes.  It just sat there, pawing at the sea wall and staring out at the lake.  Maybe this was Chuck's answer, his karmic time to reap, every rotten thing he'd ever done in his life come back to get him all at once.  A gull squawked right over his head, and that drew his gaze outward, up, and--and over the water.  Chuck shut his eyes for a brief moment, then stepped out onto the embankment, forcing himself to look down.  He had to blink several times before he could breathe again.  There was no ghostly pale hand floating in the water, no trace of a brown leather jacket or a great big foot in a lace-up boot, no dark hair.

No Gary.  

Chuck's stomach dropped back down to the usual place with a thud.  He didn't know whether it was to his credit or not, but he was relieved, relieved beyond words.  Hell, he hadn't done anything to deserve that kind of fate.

Cat, however, was not relieved, and more insistent than ever.  "Reee-ow!" it howled.

"What?"  Chuck held out his hands, no longer caring who saw him.  "There's nothing.  I don't get it.  I'm not going in the lake, if that's what you're thinking.  Been there, done that, almost turned into a Chucksicle, and there's no place close that I can go to warm up afterward--"

There was no place because there was no Gary because...

"Because why, damn it?"  If any creature on earth knew, Chuck supposed it was that cat.  It wasn't fair that some demented house pet knew more about his best friend than he did.  Implacable, the feline continued to gaze across the lake.  "Okay, what is it I'm supposed to see?"

He tried to follow the direction of the cat's stare.  A boat on the far horizon fluttered white sails with blue stripes.  A gull traced the same path in the sky; the wind was pushing birds and clouds out to sea--or at least, that's what it looked like; not a lake, but a tame ocean.  One ray of sunshine, from the clouds breaking behind him, seemed to be trying to follow them.

And he was thinking like some sappy old poet.  Couldn't he have at least an iota of dignity left?

Then, incredibly, as if this whole stupid scenario couldn't get any more bizarre, Cat pawed a couple of times at the concrete, then lifted its paw toward the lake, toward the east.

"Gary's out there?  Like I didn't know that already?  Look at me, I'm talking to a damn cat again, and you know what?  I'm not anymore.  Forget this mindfuck.  There's nothing I can do."  

Chuck turned on his heel, ignoring the meowing this time.  Screw this.  He wasn't going to fall again; wasn't going to get his hopes up, crash, and then have to stitch himself back together.  It just wasn't going to happen.

Besides, he thought as he dug the car keys out of his pocket with stiff, uncooperative fingers, pounding out a march on the pavement in his new funeral-black loafers--besides, it might not even be the same cat.  He was the one letting his imagination run away with him now.  

He refused to look back, cutting across the lawn to the narrow parking lot, aware only peripherally of the cars circling in wait for an open space.  Leaving the heater off despite the cold that had burrowed its way into his marrow, Chuck pulled out of his place and let one of the vultures claim its prize.  He didn't look back, not at the waterline, not at the pier, not at the bench, and not at the tiny, orangish dot that was probably sitting a few yards down from it.  

It was just a cat.  It wasn't a harbinger of...of anything.  It hadn't been pointing, it had just been lifting a paw, cold from the pavement.  Maybe it had a rock between its toes.  

That's all it was.  

That's all it could be.  

Damn, he needed a drink.





Chapter 40

In one bunch together bound
Flowers for burning here are found,
Both good and ill;
Thousandfold let good seed spring,
Wicked weeds, fast withering.
          ~ traditional Cornish rhyme


As it turned out, Morgelyn's worries about Fergus's reaction were ill-founded.  He was happy enough to see them, but too preoccupied with his customers, and with the attentions of the freckled girl, Cecily, to notice his friends' unease.

Morgelyn decided to buy her ribbon after all, and Gary went with her.  He told himself it was just because he couldn't sit there watching Fergus make a fool of himself over a woman.  Really, it had nothing to do with being overprotective at all.

Going to market with Morgelyn was, he discovered, a lot like grocery shopping with his mom back when he was a kid.  "I only need milk and bread," she would say when Gary groaned as they pulled into the Safeway, but she always grabbed a cart, and by the time they'd left, he'd be carrying bags full of things she'd just happened to remember that they needed.  It wasn't all that different here.  By the time they made their way to the stall where the ribbons were being sold, the basket Gary carried was laden with candles, a roll of parchment and a bottle of ink, and, though he couldn't imagine why she'd need more, small jars of herbs and spices.  The hair ribbon--dark red, like Morgelyn's dress--paid for, they headed back for Fergus, and a bell began to clang.  

Declan came down the main path, ringing a brass bell high over his head.  With good natured grumbling, the sellers began to collect their goods and take down the tents.  "We need room for the festivities," Declan told Nia, who was complaining that the sun hadn't even met the tree tops yet.  "Stories and dancing and the bonfires are yet to come.  Ah, well met, sir!"  He nodded at Gary, then swept a bow.  "Lady Morgelyn, a pleasure."

"I'm no lady, Declan, and you know it," she said, laughing.  Even when faced with the specter of Patrick Quinn in monk's robes, Gary was more relaxed than he had been.  The people down here seemed more cheerful and friendly than those up by the tavern.  While Declan went on, still ringing his bell with gusto, Gary waved at Nia and Piran.

"Do not forget that dance!" Nia called, and tossed Gary an apple.  He waved again, in thanks this time, and turned just in time to catch the bemused frown Morgelyn shot his way.

"Nia?" Morgelyn asked under her breath.  "Be careful around her, Gary.  That girl has one thing on her mind.  She has already snared the hearts--and the lips--of most of the village boys."

"She's not so bad," Gary mumbled through a mouthful of apple flesh.  She thought well of Morgelyn, after all.

"You would think so," she muttered dryly.  "You thought the same thing about Nessa yesterday."

Gary shrugged.  From what he'd seen, no woman had it easy here.  A little ambition might not be such a bad thing.  Swiping with the back of his hand at the juice dribbling down his chin, Gary hurried after her.  They were headed for the edge of town, closest to the bridge, where a large group of children and adults seemed to be gathering.  "I just meant--"

Hysterical squealing exploded just behind them; Gary spun around.  A crowd of children was chasing through the rapidly-disappearing market stalls, yelling and shouting in some game or another.  They looked cleaner than they had the day before, and many of the girls had flowers woven in their hair.  One of the littlest girls came shrieking around Gary in a blur of auburn hair and brown dress, then ducked behind Morgelyn, clutching at her skirts.  

"Save me!"

Now that she was relatively still, Gary recognized her as the girl who'd finished the story for him the day before.  "Tamsyn, right?" he asked.  She hid her face in a fold of red wool.

"The boys are chasing me!"  Her voice was muffled, her bare feet stomping in the dust.

"Oh, dear, we can't have that."  Morgelyn made a show of pushing Tamsyn behind her and throwing her wide skirts over the child.  

"Tamsyn!"  A red-headed boy, the leader of a group of four or five that Gary guessed to be about ten years old, stopped before them.  "Where'd she go?"

Gary pointed toward the bridge, and Morgelyn had to cough to hide the twittering behind her skirt.  The boys took off in that direction, and Tamsyn poked her head out.  

"You are lucky not to have a big brother," she told Morgelyn.  "He was pulling my braids and he wanted to put my dollie on the wish boat!"  She held up a tiny bundle of straw, tied off into approximation of head, legs, and arms with rough twine, covered here and there with bits of cloth.  "Matilda can't swim," Tamsyn added mournfully.

"Your dollie is safe with us," Morgelyn assured her.  She reached for the little girl's free hand.  "Come, you want to sail your boat, don't you?"  But Tamsyn was staring at Gary, her eyes wide.  "This is Gary; you told him the story, remember?  He shall keep the boys away from you and Matilda."  A shy smile peeked up at Gary as the three started toward the bridge at the edge of town.

"What's going on?" Gary asked.

"We have to make a wish."  Determinedly cheerful, Morgelyn swung the little girl's hand in hers.  

"Green is gold, fire is wet!" Tamsyn shouted, skipping between Morgelyn and Gary.  

"Exactly," Morgelyn laughed.

"That clears it up," Gary muttered good-naturedly.  

"There she is!"  The boys had spotted Tamsyn, and started charging in their direction.  Squealing, she grabbed Gary around the knees, hiding her face.  Gary handed the basket to Morgelyn, then reached down and swung Tamsyn up over his head, situating her on his shoulders.  Flummoxed, her brother skidded to a stop, while the others kept on going; apparently they had other targets as well.  After a first gasp of surprise, Tamsyn chortled down at the boy with floppy red hair and wide brown eyes.

"You canna get me now, James!"

The boy opened his mouth to say something, but then he caught Gary's eye, turned and realized who was standing next to him.  Confusion blossomed across his face.  

"Hullo, James," Morgelyn said with a smile.  "Looking for something?"

"No, we are done playing with the baby," the boy said.  Still looking strangely at Morgelyn, he took two steps back.  

The smile didn't leave her face, but a furrowed line appeared above her eyebrows.  "What is wrong?"

"Is--um--is it true that Tolan is sick?"

"He was, but he is getting better now."

James looked toward the Styles's cottage, then back at Gary and Morgelyn.  "My father said--he said that you--"

Struggling to hold the excited girl steady, Gary swallowed.  Not this again.  It was going to follow them everywhere, wasn't it?  The thing was, this boy didn't seem malicious, not like the adults had been, or those kids fighting back in Chicago.  It was more like he was asking for assurance.  Morgelyn seemed to sense it, too; her smile softened and she spoke as she might to someone Tamsyn's age.

"I would no more hurt Tolan than I would hurt you or your sister."  She bent forward a little, and put a hand on the boy's shoulder.  "You know that, don't you James?"

He glanced up at Tamsyn, who was still giggling above Gary's head.  Something must have clicked.   The boy's shoulders slumped, and a crooked grin broke across his face.  "He truly will be well?"  Morgelyn nodded.  "Father must have been mistaken."  James looked awfully relieved about that as he ran off, waving over his shoulder at his sister.  "Bye, brat!"

Gary frowned, adding the red hair to what the boy had said.  "Is his father--"

"Simon Elders," Morgelyn finished, staring after James.  "Making accusations like that to my face is one thing, but poisoning the minds of his own--"  Turning back to Gary, she caught sight of Tamsyn and bit her lip.  

"That boy wanted to believe you," Gary told her quietly, pointing with two fingers in the direction James had gone.  "He did believe you."

"For how long, I wonder?"

"Mama!"  Tamsyn kicked her heels into Gary's ribs.  "Mama, look at me!"

A woman broke from the crowd before them, her faded blue skirt swirling around her as she honed in on Tamsyn's call.  

"Up here, Mama!"

Concern melted into amusement as the woman saw Tamsyn, then Morgelyn, and joined them.  "Morgelyn, thank goodness."  The women shared a friendly hug, while Gary tried to keep the squirming child balanced on his shoulders.  "Are you all right?  I heard about yesterday--it is dreadful what these men will do when--what some men will do," she amended when she met Gary's eyes.  

"I am quite well," Morgelyn assured her.  "Lara Elders, this is Gary Hobson."

Gary, clinging to Tamsyn's legs to keep her from slipping and to protect his tender ribs, nodded in greeting.  "Hello."

"Our shipwrecked stranger," Lara said, but her dark eyes twinkled warmly at Gary, and she, of all the people he'd met, didn't say the word "stranger" as if it was something bad.  The children might have inherited their red hair from their father, but their happy, round faces came from Lara.  She tilted her head up to look at her daughter.  "What are you doing up there, little one?"  

"I am a bird, Mama."  Tamsyn pulled up Gary's hair, and he winced.  "See my tree?  I flew up here to get away from James.  He chased me."

"More likely you are a chattering squirrel, and in danger of destroying your perch."  Lara held out her arms.  "I think it is safe to get down now.  Do you want to sail your boat?"

"Down, down, I want to get my boat!" Tamsyn squealed.  Not wanting to lose an eardrum to her high-pitched cries, Gary complied.  He spun her down with a flourish, and after a hug from her mother, she scampered off to the crowd.  

Lara sighed as she watched the girl go.  "Such high spirits.  I apologize if she imposed upon your kindness."

Gary shook his head.  "Nah, she's fine."

"Gary's specialty is helping fair ladies in distress," Morgelyn teased.  

He could feel warmth in his cheeks as Lara looked him over appraisingly.  "I--I really just--right time, right place..." he trailed off weakly.

Lara's expression turned serious as she asked Morgelyn, "Speaking of distress, have you spoken with Anna today?"

Morgelyn flinched, but she didn't bring up the scene that had happened near the tavern.  "I checked in on Tolan this afternoon," she said, "and he seems much improved.  I am sure he will be playing with James and the others again in a few days.  But Mark is ill, and in a foul temper with Anna right now."

"Mark Styles deserves any illness that befalls him," Lara snapped, echoing Gary's own sentiments.  "Poor little Ronana was so weakened by his treatment of her, 'tis no wonder she died.  Simon may be crude in his words, but he has never raised a hand against me or the children."

At the mention of Ronana Styles, Morgelyn's forehead creased into worried furrows.  "Lara, would you be willing to go to Anna?  Tolan should be all right, but I do not think Anna should be alone.  We will watch over the children."

"The whole village watches over the children," Lara said with a wry smile.  "Now that there are so few of us, they seem more precious than when we were children together.  Do you remember how it was?" she asked Morgelyn.  "We were all friends then, boys and girls alike."

"We were friends for much longer than childhood."  Morgelyn's wistful pronouncement made Gary think of Chuck, of home, of what it must be like to stay in one place a whole life long and never expect to leave it.  No wonder she wouldn't listen to Fergus about leaving.

"Most of us remain so.  I am sure this nonsense will pass, Morgelyn.  Do you remember how much fear ran through Gwenyllan when everyone caught fevers last winter?  We still live under the shadow of the pestilence."

"Tolan's illness is not the pestilence, and God willing, it will not spread far."  Morgelyn handed Lara the red ribbon.  "Go, please tend to Anna, and give her this.  She has little enough to brighten her life these days.  But do not tell her it came from me, or Mark may be even more angry with her."

Lara fingered the bit of silk.  "I will not tell her, but she will know.  You are a good friend, Morgelyn."

"As are you."  Morgelyn embraced Lara again.  "Gary and I will make sure that Tamsyn does not fall into the water with her boat."  The smile left her face as she watched Lara walk away.

"You okay?" Gary asked Morgelyn.

"Oh, of course I am."  She gave a sharp shrug, as if she were pushing away the cloud of suspicion yet again.  She tilted her head toward the group of children near the broad oak that stood a few feet from the bridge.  "Here comes your new friend."  Tamsyn was wiggling her way back to them through older, bigger children, her auburn braids flailing wildly.

"He said to give these to you!"  Breathless, she skidded to a stop before them, juggling her doll and three roughly carved pieces of new wood, no bigger than her fist, with a tiny blob of wax and a wick stuck in each.  She handed one to Gary and one to Morgelyn, then dashed off again with her own.

"What's this?"

"A gift from a grateful damsel," Morgelyn teased.  "'Tis your wish boat.  Thank you, Joseph!" she called, and as they neared the knot of people, Gary saw an older man seated under a tree, a makeshift crutch propped behind him, handing out the crudely-carved little boats and accepting copper coins in exchange.  He waved in their direction.  

"That is Nia's father.  She takes care of him and her brother and their farm.  No wonder she runs a little wild on days like these."  

"Should I pay him?" Gary asked.  He still had the extra silver coin Fergus had given him to buy lunch.

Morgelyn shook her head.  "He refuses to accept it from me, ever since Piran..."  She trailed off.  

"You saved his son's life."  Gary rubbed his thumb across the rough wood and the smoother dollop of candle.  "It's good to know that you have a few friends here," he said.  

"And it is good that you have seen a better side of the village than what Mark and Simon would show you."  Morgelyn looked around at the milling, happy knots of people.  When Gary nodded, she led him to the bank of the river, where a few lit torches sprouted from the muddy bank.  People--mostly children, but a few adults as well--were lighting the candles on their boats from the flames.  

"Set your candle burning," Morgelyn said, "and then take the boat to the river.  Make a wish.  If the boat reaches the opposite bank with the candle still burning, your wish will come true."

Gary watched the people lining up for their turn at the river bank.  A couple dozen more watched from the bridge.  Everybody seemed to be having a great time, laughing and visiting and pointing at the flotilla of bobbing candles.  "What if it doesn't make it all the way across?"

"Then your wish will not come true.  Either way, you know your fortune.  'Tis a bit like knowing the future," she added with a twinkle in her eye.  

"Very funny," Gary muttered.  He lit the candle on his boat, then did the same for Morgelyn's.  "How is it that this kind of stuff is okay, but healing people isn't?"

"It is how we see the world," Morgelyn said simply.  It seemed to Gary like a strange brew of faith and superstition.  He followed her to the riverbank, where excited children were laughing and clapping and, some of them, moaning in disappointment.  Tamsyn and a group of three other girls about her age were dancing around in a circle, chanting.

"Green is gold,
Fire is wet,
Fortune's told,
Dragon's met!"

"More dragons?" Gary asked under his breath.

"Green is gold," Morgelyn said, touching the new green, fronds of the willow tree, and Gary could still see a hint of yellow in them.  "Fire is wet."  She nodded at the boats already floating along the river.  "Make your wish, and learn your fortune."  She knelt on the riverbank, dropped in the boat with a little shove and watched it bob, downstream at a diagonal, until it reached the opposite side.  Tamsyn clapped her hands.

"My wish came true, too, Morgelyn!"

The whole thing seemed like a large-scale version of kids blowing out birthday candles.  "What about the dragon?" Gary asked again.

"I have never been sure where that part comes from," Morgelyn told him, "but perhaps now that you are here, we will learn.  Sail your boat."

"What the heck," Gary muttered. He knelt, not sure what to wish for.  The paper?  All this to go away?  

Home, he thought, dribbling his fingers in the river, feeling the tug of the current just under the surface.  At the right time, after he'd come to do what he had to do, but still...home.

He pushed the boat as hard as he could without toppling in head first, and tried to follow its progress.  A gleeful shout and Tamsyn jumping on his back distracted him, and when he stood, the little girl's arms wrapped around his shoulders, her legs around his waist, he couldn't distinguish his boat from the dozens of others that were there.  "Did it reach?" Tamsyn asked.

"I--I dunno."  It just figured.  Well, it was only a superstition; it wasn't as if it meant anything.

"Of course it did," Morgelyn said with a decisive nod.  "Get down, Tamsyn, or you will give the man more bruises than he already has."

Strange music, played on something that sounded flute-like, drifted over the crowd, sad and almost longing at first, then picking up a happier tune.  Gary couldn't see the player, but he didn't think it sounded like something Fergus would do.  Flowers were thrown on the river; children tossed more in the air and ran under the showers of petals.  Someone started singing about summer and cuckoos, and before long many voices had taken up the song.

"Dance with us!" Tamsyn shouted, grabbing Morgelyn's hand and dragging her to the growing circle of children, both boys and girls, who were doing little more than skipping in a circle.  Gary retreated to the shade of a willow tree and sat down on the soft grass, the basket next to him, intending to finish off Nia's apple.  

"You will not dance, sir?" asked a pleasant, teasing voice.  Gary blinked into folds of purple satin, then looked up into the laughing face of Lady Nessa.  Belatedly remembering his manners, he got to his feet and made a stilted bow, but he had to gulp down a huge chunk of apple before he could speak.

"I don't know the steps that they dance in...uh, in this part of the world."  Remembering that he was supposed to be a shipwreck survivor with amnesia, he added, "Or if I do, I don't remember them."

Sweeping Gary with an assessing gaze from head to toe, she smiled.  "Despite your tragic misfortune," she said, with an emphasis on the last two words that might have meant she was making fun of him--or maybe not, he couldn't tell-- "you strike me as someone who knows exactly who he is."  Nessa had to look up at him to meet his eyes, yet she still gave the impression that she was the taller one, the superior.  Marcia used to be able to do that, too.  "'Tis very attractive in a man."  Lifting one elegant eyebrow, she inclined her head toward the river and asked, "What did you wish for?"

Apple juice dripped through his fingers, and Gary tossed the core into the tall grass behind him.  "I thought wishes don't come true if they're told."

"It could not hurt to tell me, if the future is already foretold."  Nessa's gaze darted to the little group of dancers.  Other adults and teenagers had joined in, and one line of dancers was weaving around the other in a circle.  Morgelyn met Gary's eyes, saw who he was talking to, and stopped in the middle of the melee.  A step behind Nessa, he wrinkled his nose and shook his head, a signal that she shouldn't worry, but while Tamsyn pulled her back into the weaving line, she kept looking over her shoulder.

"What about you?" he tried, returning his attention to Nessa.  "What did you wish for?"

"Oh, I do not do that sort of thing," she said, with a dismissive wave toward the villagers who were still sending their wishes into the current.  "'Tis nothing but a quaint country custom, as is most of the festival you will see today--as quaint as one of Morgelyn's little cures."

Something about the way she watched him, gauging his reaction to the false lightness--was it false?--of that last comment, changed the air around him.  Then she blinked, and the friendliness was back in her face.  

"They seem to do the trick," he said, carefully casual with his shrug.  He didn't want to let this woman know that he suspected her of baiting him.  Maybe that way he wouldn't get hooked.  "But I--I know what you mean about the customs.  None of it seems very familiar to me."

"Hmmm."  She placed her index finger, heavy with a silver ring, on her lips and tilted her head to the side.  "Do you know what I think?  I think you come from London, perhaps, or perhaps Plymouth.  Most assuredly you are of the nobility--you are too out of place here to be anything else.  Perhaps it would aid your memory if you were to mingle with the proper people."

An alarm tinkled in the back of Gary's brain, but he tried to keep his expression neutral, even interested.  "What did you have in mind?"

"Tonight, after dark, there is a wonderful party planned at the manor house--feasting, music, and dancing that is more--"  She cleared her throat and gave a brief sniff in the direction of the raucous dancers.  "--more befitting the occasion of a saint's feast.  Perhaps it would be more to your taste than this country festival."

"But--" Gary began, before he'd thought the thing out properly.  Snapping his mouth shut, he shot a glance in Morgelyn's direction, but the music had taken on a wilder, more insistent tone, and the dancers were working hard to keep up with it.

"You may bring her along, if she will come," Nessa said, pleasantly enough.  "It might be...interesting."  What flashed through her eyes reminded Gary of the way the popular gang of hoodlums in junior high would invite Chuck along on their antics, supposedly as an honor, but always, it turned out, so that they would have someone handy to make fun of.  Still, Gary knew, this was more than just a power play between two strong women.  He also knew that Nessa was sure Morgelyn wouldn't go.  So was he.  

"Thank you, but I don't know if--if I can," he finished lamely.

"You are free to make your own decisions, are you not?"  One eyebrow lifted, Nessa patted his chest lightly with a bejeweled  hand.  "Consider it.  I must round up my ladies in waiting and see to the preparations, but I hope to speak with you soon."

Gary dropped a brief nod; Nessa lifted her skirts, swept them around, and walked off into the mingling crowd back in the village center.  

"My friend, we will dine well tonight!" Fergus crowed, peeking out from behind the willow tree.  "Lady Nessa's parties are the stuff of legends and ballads." Freckles was with him, and they were both looking a bit rumpled, but Gary decided it would be best not to ask what they'd been up to.

"You don't actually think I'm going to that thing, do you?  And who invited you?"

"Cecily did," Fergus told him with a triumphant grin, swinging his companion's hand.  "She works in the kitchens, and she told me that one of the musicians was taken ill earlier today, so I plan to offer my services."

"How could they refuse?" Cecily burbled.

"How indeed?"  Gasping for breath, Morgelyn joined them.  Wisps of hair had escaped her bundled braids, and she tried to tuck some of them back in.  "Who is it that would not refuse your skills, Fergus?"

"I have been invited to the party at the manor, though not by Lady Nessa herself--unlike your dragon slayer here," Fergus said with a smirk.  

"You are going there?"  Morgelyn seemed taken aback; her arms fell to her sides, and she stared hard at Gary.  "What about you?"

"Well, Lady Nessa, she...she kind of invited me," he stammered, exchanging a glance with Fergus.  Morgelyn looked from one to the other in disbelief.

"I think she likes the way you dressed him up."  Fergus was enjoying her reaction far too much.  

"Look, I just thought--you said--"  Gary shifted a glance at Cecily, who looked as if she were about to burst into more giggles.  Taking Morgelyn by the arm, he pulled her out of earshot while Fergus pecked Cecily on the cheek and sent her on her way.  Gary lowered his voice to a whisper.  "You said you thought she was up to something.  I thought it might be a good idea for me to go there and try to see if I can figure out what she's up to."

Arms crossed over her chest, Morgelyn still looked doubtful, but Fergus slapped Gary on the back.  "Exactly!  We shall corner the dragon in her own lair!"

Arms crossed in front of her, Morgelyn stared Fergus down.  "You thought I should not come here today, but you want to walk into her home--you want Gary to walk into her home, by himself, not knowing anyone, not knowing any of the customs, and spy on her?"

"Precisely!"  When Morgelyn pursed her lips, Fergus hurried to finish, "He shall not be alone; I will be there.  'Tis a party, Morgelyn.  Halfway through it everyone there will be sotted.  They will never know the difference."

Morgelyn's jaw worked, as if she was trying to contain a torrent of rebuttal--or, knowing her, sarcasm.  But instead she turned back to Gary.  "Are you going?"  Her tone was carefully neutral, her eyes wide with innocence, but her mouth was drawn in a firm line.

Ever the diplomat, Gary asked, "What do you think we should do?"

"I think you should make up your own mind."  She spun on her heel and headed back for the village.  Gary had to double step to keep up, Fergus right behind.

"Well, look, don't be mad at me, just 'cause she invited me, I didn't ask her to, and I just thought--look, look at me, would ya?"  Gary caught Morgelyn's sleeve, trying to make his point, but when he spun her around, she flinched, and he realized he'd grabbed the injured arm.  Pulling his hand back instantly, he stuttered out, "I-I'm sorry.  Look, I'm just trying to help, I just want to be of some use."

"You have been useful, Gary; what a ridiculous thing to say."  No longer bothering to hide her irritation, she rubbed her arm and shook her head in exasperation.  

Gary had the feeling he'd gone off the high dive and into the deep end without even knowing it.  "Morgelyn--"

The breath she drew in through gritted teeth was a sign of how tight a reign she had on her temper.  "We can talk about this later.  Right now I promised Tamsyn a story."

Throwing up his hands as she walked away, Gary asked Fergus, "What's her problem?"

"I would venture to say that she does not like letting her dragon slayer out of her sight."  Fergus waggled his eyebrows.  "Do the ladies to get out their claws over you like this back home?"  

Gary fixed him with an incredulous stare.  "Morgelyn isn't jealous, not like that."

"Nooo...but she does not like the thought of you with Nessa, and--"  Pretended to cough, Fergus pointed discreetly to his right as he covered his mouth.  Gary looked and saw Nessa, on the outskirts of the group now gathering around the well a satisfied smirk on her face as she watched Morgelyn stalk away.  When she turned a fraction and saw Gary, she smiled and waved.  He didn't know what else to do, so he waved back, a weak smile on his face--and hoped Morgelyn hadn't seen it.





Chapter 41

Life gives us magic and life brings us tragedy
Everyone suffers some loss
Still we have faith in it, childlike hope
There's a reason that outweighs the cost
          ~ Beth Nielsen Chapman


Marissa's weariness caught up with her in the library stacks.  A yawn that nearly cracked her jaw escaped while she was fast-forwarding through the third book on tape for references to Celtic knots, ancient magic, Latin translations, dragons, crystal balls--anything remotely helpful, anything that might ring a bell.  The Regenstien Library had an extensive collection, something like seven million volumes, but too much of it wasn't immediately accessible to her.  She knew she wasn't going to be able to convince the overworked reference librarians who'd spent the day helping her out that Braille dictionaries for ancient Gaelic languages was an emergency request. 

And how was library research going to help Gary, anyway?  All she'd found out so far--and it had taken nearly an hour to go from her stumbling pronunciation of the Latin phrases to an English translation--was that the words she'd heard in the lab--salve nos, ad adjuvandum me festina --meant "save us," and "make haste to help me."  Knowing that they were frightened pleas for aid only made her feel more helpless.

She removed the headphones and tucked them into her bag, rubbing grit from her eyes with fingers that were sore from all the reading she'd done.  There had to be an answer somewhere; she just wasn't finding it.  Back in the lab, when the globe had changed, she had thought that maybe, just possibly, it was as simple as making a wish.  That was, after all, what she had done--stood there and wished for Gary to come home.  But when she'd tried again, alone in the ladies' room of the library, nothing at all had happened--no warmth, no vibration, no change.

No Gary.

There had to be a way.  But right now, this was all she could think of to do, this research that seemed to be leading nowhere.  Her open bag sat on the chair next to her, and every now and then she reached in, just to reassure herself that the scrying glass was still there, and that it wasn't changing on its own.  She kept her fingers moving across the thick pages of Braille, but rested her heavy head on her arm.  Finally, like an undergrad during exam week, drifted off into sleep, cheek pressed against the polished wooden table.

The jingle of Spike's tags woke her.  Marissa was immediately aware of another presence nearby, and in the confusion of waking up in the midst of the books and Braille printouts, in a strange place at an hour she couldn't immediately identify, caution kicked in.  Lifting her head from the table, she reached down at the same time, aiming for Spike's harness and brushing another hand instead--slender fingers, female--but that was all the impression she had time for.  The fingers pulled away and a breathy, familiar voice stammered, "Oh, dear.  I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, I was just--your dog--"

Marissa ran her hand along the edge of the library table; the polished wood reassured her that she was still in the same place.  "Kelyn?"

"Yes, it's me.  Uh--hi."

"Hi?"  Frowning, Marissa asked, "What are you doing here?" 

"I work here.  Over in microfilms and periodicals, actually, but I was in the break room and Tom was talking about finding stuff and scanning it so he could print it out in Braille.  From the kinds of stuff he was talking about, I started to wonder--so I came to see if it was you.  I didn't mean to wake you, but your dog was watching me, and I sat down to pet him.  I know I shouldn't, but I'm a sucker when it comes to animals, and--"

"It's okay."  Marissa cut the apology short, scratching behind Spike's ears.  "He likes the attention, and as long as he's not working, it doesn't hurt anything."

There was a scrape of a chair over the hard tiled floor.  "He's really a cool dog.  I mean, I know you can't see him, but he's beautiful.  In some animals' eyes, you can almost see a--a soul, and he's like that."

"I know," Marissa said quietly.  "Spike's a big help to me, but he's also a good friend."  She hesitated for a moment before adding, " I wouldn't have him if it wasn't for Gary."

"That's why you're here, isn't it?  When Tom said you were looking up stuff about magic and the Celts, I figured you were looking into it.  Did you have any luck?"

"A little," Marissa said guardedly.  She began collecting the printouts and the books she wanted to take with her.  Heaven knew they wouldn't be a whole lot of help, but she was already clutching at straws.  A few more wouldn't hurt.

"Please--Miss Clark--"

She stopped organizing the materials at the earnest pleading in Kelyn's voice.  "Call me Marissa." 

"Marissa.  I'm--I'm sorry I wasn't more help yesterday.  I was just so--so shocked about what happened to Mr. Hobson, and to think I might have--"  Kelyn gulped.  "Do you think I might have caused this by giving him that globe?  Because, believe me, if I'd thought it would hurt him, I would have thrown it away." 

It must have taken courage for Kelyn to approach her like this, when she could have just walked right by.  Marissa set her materials down in a pile and turned toward the girl.  "I know you didn't mean any harm.  That's not why I wanted to speak with you.  I just thought--if there's any way, any possible connection to what happened to Gary, to his disappearance, I had to know."

"Have you found anything?"

"An archaeology student is working on a rough translation of the inscription underneath the crystal ball, but other than that, no."

"There's an inscription?  Wow, I never knew--what does it say?"

"That's the trouble.  It's in Gaelic, and an old dialect at that, according to Josh--the grad student.  He has a friend who's working on it.  Bablefish-dot-com won't exactly be able to handle something like this."  Marissa was having a rapid-fire internal debate about whether to ask Kelyn if she'd ever seen the scrying glass change the way it had for Gary, and then again this morning.  Surely, though, she would have mentioned it if it had happened before. 

"Well, if I can do anything at all..."  But Kelyn fell silent as heavy footsteps crossed the floor, slowing and then stopping a few feet away. 

Spike's tail thumped against Marissa's legs, and she shifted in her chair, turning toward the new arrival.  "Crumb?"

"Huh," he grunted.  "How'd you know?"

"Old Spice."  And overprotective ex-cop, but she wasn't sure how to explain that part.  Sometimes she just knew.

Crumb's gruff, "Hello," his acknowledgment of Kelyn, echoed with mistrust. 

"Kelyn works here," Marissa told him. 

"And I need to get back to periodicals.  My break's long over."  Kelyn's chair scraped back.   "I just wanted to--well, to say that I hope you find what you're looking for."

"Thank you."  Marissa waited until Kelyn's footsteps retreated, then asked Crumb, "What about you?"

"What about me what?"

"C'mon, Crumb.  I know you're not here looking for the latest Tom Clancy novel."

He stepped closer and dropped his voice into a quieter register, as hushed as Crumb was capable of getting.  "Quinn told me where you went this morning.  I went over there and they sent me here.  Hey Spike," he added, lowering himself into the seat Kelyn had vacated.  "You made that kid's day, when you called him and asked for his help."

The questions he'd left unspoken--why hadn't she called Crumb?  What had she been looking for?  What had she found?--hung in the air between them.  "Patrick has a kind heart," Marissa said, instead of telling Crumb what he really wanted to know.  "But I don't think he sent you here."

"Nah.  I've been trying to catch up with you all day."  Crumb sighed, and the wooden chair creaked as he shifted his weight.  "We have to go to the police station--No, no, it's not that," he added hastily, when Marissa clutched the edge of the table, her heart in her throat.  "They haven't found him.  Not even a sign, and they're actually--they're about to call off the search."  His voice grew gentler than she'd ever known it to be.  "They're starting to wrap up the investigation, Marissa.  Nick--the sergeant you met yesterday--she wants you to come down and give a formal statement.  It's standard procedure when someone witnesses an accident involving a fatality."

By now, she should have been used to this.  It shouldn't have been so hard to hear.  It shouldn't have been so hard to breathe.  She shouldn't have needed Spike's head in her lap, his muzzle pushing against her hand.  But she did.  "They haven't found Gary, but they still think he's down there?" 

"Marissa--"

"Because the funny thing is, I don't."  She brought her hand down on the pile of books with a thump, nudged Spike away, and drew the books onto her lap.  "But they'll never believe me, so what's the point?"  Not again, she was not choking up again.  Not here, not now...the wire spirals that bound the books were leaving imprints on her palm, but she tightened her grip even further. 

"Sweetheart, it won't take long, I promise.  All you have to do is tell the truth--well, except for that newspaper part."

Drawing in a deep breath as she uncurled her fingers, Marissa tried to sound rational.  "I can't tell them all of the truth.  They'd never believe me.  They'd lock me up in a nuthouse.  Chuck already wants to, and you're too kind to say it, but--"

"But nothin'," Crumb said fiercely.  "Nobody's gonna lock you up, you hear me?  Look, I'm sorry it's gotta be this way, but at least if you go down there right now, you can get this out of the way once and for all."

Why did kind words stab at her heart?  "Crumb--"

"I'm just talking about the police part of it.  That's all I meant."

It took a Herculean effort, but Marissa gathered up everything she'd been thinking about for the past few hours and shoved it down deep, away and inside.  She'd indulged herself in this all day, and made no progress at all.  For a few hours, she supposed she could play a different role.  Crumb already was lifting the books out of her lap when she nodded.  "Okay."

They stood, and Crumb asked, "What happened to your hand?"

"I scratched it back in the lab--archaeological emergency."  Marissa forced a wry smile as she shrugged into her coat and slung her bag over her shoulder.

"What d'ya mean, emergency?"

"It's fine, Crumb, really."  She slipped the hand in question into her bag, checking one more time to make sure the scrying glass was still there.  Cool to her touch, it rested atop the makeup kit she hadn't used in days.  Nodding to herself, Marissa picked up Spike's harness and reached for Crumb's elbow.  "Let's go."

Crumb didn't move.  "But if you need--"

"It was the cat, Crumb.  Gary's cat was there in the archaeology lab.  Do you really want to know any more?"

There was a pause, and Marissa raised an eyebrow.  Maybe he really did--but the noise Crumb made next was part "har-rumph" and part snort.  "Guess I don't."

Marissa wondered whether he really didn't, or if he was just following her lead.  But she tucked that thought down with the rest of the day's riddles.  "Let's go," she said again, and Crumb led her across the polished floor toward the check-out desk.





Chapter 42

"Story," the Old Man said, looking beyond the
cave to the dragon's tracks.  "Story is our wall
against the dark."
          ~ Jane Yolen


The light deepened to gold as the sun started its slow descent.  Rubbing his bare wrist, Gary wondered what time it was.  Must have been close to dinner; his stomach was growling, and the apple he'd just eaten had only sharpened his appetite.  He and Fergus hung back from the knot of people gathered by the well, while Tamsyn dragged Morgelyn forward.  Joseph, the old man who'd made the boats, was already sitting there on the ledge of rocks.   Blue eyes sparkled against his sun-leathered skin, and the hands that had carved the little boats shook with arthritis when he tried to gesture.  His story was about a magical cup that broke because someone had lied.  Not the kind of thing Chuck should have, Gary thought. 

He crossed his arms over his chest and asked Fergus, "So everybody sits around and tells stories all night?"

"Not all night.  Only until it is dark enough for bonfires and more dancing.  By then, of course, you and I will be at Lady Nessa's feast."  Fergus rubbed his hands together, a gleam in his eyes, but Gary blinked at him, then looked away.  Some of his 'gotta do something' resolve had faded in the light of Morgelyn's tense reaction to the invitation.  If he didn't fit in here in the village, he was pretty sure he wouldn't at some fancy party, either. 

He'd lost track of Joseph's tale, so Gary scanned the crowd for familiar faces.  He didn't see Mark and Simon.  If luck held, they'd sit up at the tavern and drink until they passed out.  Father Ezekiel stood on the other side of the gathering, talking amicably with Declan and greeting those who passed.  Despite what Morgelyn had said about Ezekiel's relatively recent arrival, he seemed more at home than Father Malcolm.  The second priest stood apart from the others, a few yards beyond Ezekiel, with a slight sneer on his face.  Maybe that was just his natural expression.

Children sat on the ground weaving flowers into wreaths while they listened to the story.  Adults, their hands filled with tankards of ale and hunks of bread, chatted and laughed.  On the surface everyone seemed friendly and relaxed; it was like the Hickory Fourth of July picnic without the sparklers.  And yet, when he looked closely at the villagers' faces, what Gary saw left him feeling unsettled.  Judging by the children they tended, most of them couldn't have been much older than Gary, and since he'd always heard that people in the past had married early, they might even be younger.  But they looked careworn and wary, old long before they should have been.

No wonder, really.  In a small town like this--smaller than Hickory--if as many people had died of the plague as Morgelyn had said, they all must have lost someone they cared for.  For most of them, it had probably been several people.  He tried to imagine his parents, Chuck, Marissa--Crumb and Patrick, he thought, glancing over at the priest and the young monk--all gone in a matter of days.  What would something like that do to him?

He couldn't imagine it--didn't want to.  Luckily, his thoughts scattered when Fergus nudged him and handed over one of the pastries he'd bought earlier.  It was shaped like a calzone, and Gary ventured one tentative bite.  Not bad, though the flavors were definitely strange.  Potatoes and fish and lots of strong, unfamiliar spices, but he was so hungry that what the taste didn't matter much. 

Applause and laughter scattered through the group when Joseph finished his story, and up near the well, Tamsyn pulled insistently at Morgelyn's arm.  "Your turn!  Tell the one about the prince and the milk maid, or one about Saint Bridgid!  Start with, 'Once upon a time!'"  The girl hopped from one foot to the other, and Gary wondered if there was any way to get the kid some Ritalin.  Morgelyn ignored Tamsyn, extending a hand toward the old man.

"Joseph, will you stay?  I have been trying to remember a story my grandmother used to tell about how the river got its name."

Efflam, Gary thought, and the last bit of pie lodged in his throat.  The same name as on the base of the Dragon's Eye, right next to his. 

Stroking his goatee, Fergus leaned in close and whispered, "What is she digging for?"  Gary shook his head. 

Joseph frowned at Morgelyn.  "I've not heard that story since I was young.  Since before your grandmother's day, lass.  Enora used to tell it to all of us children--but so many of those are gone now."  He looked sadly around the group, and Gary realized that there really weren't many people who looked to be Joseph's age. 

"Can you tell us what you remember?"

"Let me see," he said, rubbing one hand up and down his arm.  "Let me think for a moment..."

Nia pushed her way through the restless, mingling crowd, handing Joseph food and something to drink.  But she only stayed long enough to make sure her father took it.  A young man appeared at her elbow and they went off together, laughing at some private joke.

Gary ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to get rid of the spicy aftertaste of the pie he'd just eaten.  Someone nudged his elbow, and when he turned, Declan pressed a mug of ale into his hands, as helpful and wide-eyed as Patrick ever was.

"Thanks," Gary said with a nod over the rim of the mug.  He would have preferred water, but even warm, this beer was better than nothing. 

"Listening to stories can be thirsty work," Declan confided, but his eyes twinkled.  "You looked like you needed quenching.  I must return to my uncle now." 

Confused by the kindness, wondering if there was some ulterior motive behind it, Gary stared after him, but Declan didn't look back.  When Father Ezekiel caught him watching the young man, Gary quickly turned his attention back to the well, where Joseph was swallowing a swig of his own ale.

"Let me see, let me see," he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  "The river's name is Efflam, yes--and Efflam was a knight from the western isles, if I remember aright.  I always heard that he came here because the village was plagued with a dragon."

Tamsyn squealed, happily frightened, and ran to her mother, who'd just joined the group.  Gary watched as Lara caught Morgelyn's eye and nodded with a reassuring smile before drawing her daughter to her side.  Hopefully that meant Anna was okay.

"A dragon slayer, eh?"  Fergus called out, elbowing Gary in the ribs.  Gary flashed him a disgusted glare.

"Do you remember the story?" Morgelyn asked Joseph.  She clutched the edge of the well, practically vibrating with impatience.  Gary wondered if she was about to start dancing around like Tamsyn.

"Bits and pieces are all I have.  Must have been the age of the lassie here last I heard it."  Joseph pointed a quaking finger at Tamsyn.  "They used to tell us that the dragon lived in the sea caves down yonder."

"Ah, that dragon," said a rough, strident alto that was familiar to Gary.  He craned his neck and saw the lady who'd tried to sell him a lobster earlier in the day standing near Father Ezekiel.  "That's the one me mum used to tell me."

"What did she tell you, Essie?"  Morgelyn motioned the old woman forward, scooting over on the well and patting the space. 

"Tales to scare children away from the caves," Essie said, lowering herself slowly to the rocky seat.  "But what a dragon it were.  Eyes of burning coal, and talons of bronze."  She held up her hands, palms out, gnarled fingers curled.  The littlest children squealed, and the older ones laughed.  "Breathed fire, it did, hot enough to melt tin.  Had scales as hard as rock, and twice as ugly." 

"But that is every dragon," Declan called out.  "Or...or so I have heard tell," he added quickly, when he realized the entire group had turned to stare at him.  His ears glowed pink against his pale hair.

"This one was different, boy," Essie crowed.  "It was ours.  Guarded its treasure in our caves.  Took its meals from our stock, maybe sometimes from our flesh."

With a shriek, Tamsyn turned her face to her mother's skirt.  The older children were fascinated.

"When was the dragon here?  Did you see it?" asked the redheaded boy, Will, that Gary remembered from the day before.

"Naw, was long before us, even," Essie told him, and his eyes widened.

"It was a time before our grandmothers' grandmothers, but they still remembered."  Joseph sat up straighter, warming to the story.  "Told us that whenever a lamb was missing from a fold, whenever fishing lines were tangled and empty, whenever a cow could not be found in her pasture, everyone knew that the dragon was to blame."

Essie nodded until grey locks tumbled into her eyes.  "Weren't like now, when we never know what will curse us next."  A murmur ran through the crowd, and several people made the sign of the cross.  Lara traced it on Tamsyn's forehead.

"There are no dragons now," a young man standing next to Lara pointed out.  "What happened to it?"

"Efflam must'a come and killed it," Essie said with a shrug. 

"Was it a great battle?"  James, Tamsyn's brother, jumped up from the ground, as did several of his friends.  He picked up a stick.  "Did the dragon breathe fire, and did Efflam have a sword?"

Joseph held out one hand, palm up.  "Must have, like Essie said.  Why else would they name the river after him?"

Fergus cleared his throat, then strode forward into the center of the group.  "Of course there was fire and a sword, how else would a dragon story go?"  His voice rang out, and he took the stick from James, striking a ridiculous pose.  "There was a tremendous battle in the caves, and up and down the beach!  Efflam danced around the dragon, even got a few cuts in--"  Here, he hopped over and poked at Gary with the stick.  Gary batted it away, and Fergus turned back to the giggling kids.  "But the dragon's hide was tough as tin, and whenever Efflam tried for his head, the dragon would breathe fire, until the hair on the knight's neck was singed.  And finally, after a night and a day, Efflam delivered the death blow!  He sent his sword sailing toward the dragon's heart, and down it fell, vanquished by the truest knight in all of Christendom!"  Now the dragon, Fergus clutched at his chest and fell to the ground.  The boys cheered, some of the adults laughed, and Morgelyn rolled her eyes.  But Joseph and Essie stared at him, foreheads deeply creased.

"'Tis not the ending I remember," Joseph said slowly.  "I always pictured the final battle taking place here--up in the churchyard, actually.  Someone must have told me once that it happened there." 

Shifting from one foot to the other, Gary cast a wary eye up at the churchyard.  This all seemed like a waste of time.  Amusing, yeah, but it didn't go very far in explaining why he was there, or what that Dragon's Eye crystal ball thing was for. 

"Was there really a dragon here, right here?" Tamsyn asked, awed.  She looked around as if she expected an attack at any moment. 

"'Course there was," said a gruff, wasted voice, and Gary turned to see Robert standing right behind him.  "We live at the end of the world."

A whisper ran through the crowd, and people scooted out of the way as the blind man swept his stick in front of him.  Even the sunlight seemed to glare off Robert, resisting him.  Seeing him for the first time out of shadow and darkness, Gary was struck by how old and wild he looked; his hair was a white rat's nest, and his tattered clothes hung on him every which way. 

"Old friend, you are welcome," Joseph said warmly.  Essie let out her cackling laugh. 

"Please, Robert, help them tell the story."  Morgelyn turned pleading eyes to Gary, who was closest to the old man.  Shoving his empty tankard at Fergus, Gary took Robert's elbow.

"Help the lady out, why don't ya?" he whispered.  "You can set us all straight, here, tell the story the right way."

"Help?"  There was confusion in the furrow of Robert's brow, in the wild darting of his useless eyes, but he let Gary lead him to the well.  When Gary turned to go back, Robert caught his sleeve.  "You," he said, "you were out roaming last night by moonlight."  He was loud enough for everyone to hear; behind Gary, conversations stopped.  Morgelyn's eyes widened, and he felt as if they were on shaky ground, as if being out after dark was a no-no. 

"I was just--uh--" 

"Mushrooms!" Fergus declared loudly, falsely bright.  "We were hunting mushrooms for--for soup!"

Nobody near them was buying it; that was easy to see from the suspicious looks they shot at both men.  Gary ducked his head and hurried back to stand by the bard, wishing he could go hide in the forest instead.  Especially when he looked back and saw Lady Nessa talking to Father Malcolm.  She twisted the rings on her fingers and watched the scene with hawk-eyed calculation; something about it had distracted her from her party preparations.  It was more than the wool he was wearing that made Gary's skin crawl.

"Lookin' for dragons, were you?" Robert called after him.  "Playing with fire.  End of the world."

Another murmur ran through the crowd, but Joseph said in a soothing baritone, "It felt that way several years ago, my friend, but here we are."

"Not talkin' about time," Robert growled, impatiently pounding his staff on the ground.  "The land."

"He is right," Declan said.  "The monks and their histories have taught me that Cornwall is a special place."  He cleared his throat, took in Ezekiel's permanently suspicious scowl with a gulp, and went on.  "The Roman armies did not venture here; the Norsemen did not raid us."

"King Arthur lived here," Will piped up. 

Joseph smiled at him, a beam of light in his tanned face.  "That he did, child, that he did."

"I saw a map once."  Declan picked up a stick from the ground and traced a shape that was vaguely like the England Gary remembered from globes and maps.  He pointed to the lower left-hand corner.  "Our home looks like the long toe of those fancy shoes worn at the courts.  It has passable ports, but 'tis too far from the heart of England to be at much risk from invasion."

Essie snorted.  "It did not keep us safe from the black boils."

"'Twas our own fault," Robert told her, nearly growling.  "Or at least, some of ours."

A startled, horrified look crossed Morgelyn's face, and Gary exchanged an uneasy glance with Fergus.  Robert was right in more ways than one.  As far as these people were concerned, they really had survived the end of the world.  If he had been in their place, he'd have wondered why he was the one to survive. 

He wasn't the shipwreck victim, he realized with a start--they were.  They were clutching at the fragments of the world they'd known, like they were holding onto the pieces of the dragon story.  Even Fergus and Morgelyn--it wasn't clothes and accents and customs that made them different from the friends he knew; it was this survival, this living in a world where everything they'd counted on had changed.  Of course Fergus was cynical and panicky, adamant about his warnings.  Of course Morgelyn searched for a dragon slayer, some kind of epic hero that Gary couldn't be.  Otherwise they'd--they'd what?  Drown in anger and drink like Mark and Simon?  Clutch protectively at the children like Lara and Anna, at a future they could barely bring themselves to hope for?  Turn to the Church like Declan had?  None of those sounded like his friends.

So what was he supposed to do about it all?  That was the piece of the puzzle he still didn't get.

"Robert," Morgelyn said softly, breaking the uneasy silence, "what about the story?  How did Efflam kill the dragon?"

"Ah, he did no such thing."  Robert gave a downward, disgusted wave of his hand.  "He followed the dragon through the caves.  Came out up yonder.  Efflam looked the dragon in the eye in the full light of day--and dropped his sword."

"That was stupid," James pronounced.

"But--are you sure?"  Morgelyn touched Robert's arm.  "I have always heard tell that no man could truly look a dragon in the eye and live."

"You might want to remember that, friend," Fergus whispered, eyes twinkling at Gary over the rim of his cup. 

"Tha's true."  Essie nodded and sent her curls flapping again.

"So he died?" Will asked incredulously.  "The dragon won ?"

"No," Morgelyn said slowly.  One finger traced a pattern on her skirt--like the base of the Dragon's Eye, Gary thought.  "No--it must not have been a real dragon."

Joseph shrugged.  "That was the part old Enora never wanted to tell us.  Said we were not ready."

"Told me."  Robert said with a satisfied nod.  "Told your grandmother, girl, once at least.  I was there."

"Grandmother never told me, not that I remember."  Her finger stopped, and she stared down at it.  "There--there was not time." 

Essie reached over and gave Morgelyn's shoulder a pat.  "Never is, girl.  Never enough time."

"Eyes weren't dragon's," Robert muttered cryptically.  "Too many colors, hiding truth."

There was a moment of quiet, while people puzzled it out. 

"I know!" Tamsyn cried, jumping up and down as if she were attached to a pogo stick.  "The dragon was 'chanted, like the frog that was really a prince!"

"Eh, girl's not so silly after all."  Robert nodded and pounded his stick at the ground again for emphasis.  "Enchantment.  Yes, it was...no, not a dragon.  Wizard got himself caught in his own spell, got hidden inside the dragon.  Last bit of the old magic left in this part of the world, he was.  When Efflam figured it out, the wizard changed back."

A few muffled gasps ran through the crowd.  "Is that true?" James asked his mother.

"Nothing but a story," Father Ezekiel said, the twist of his mouth so much like Crumb's that Gary expected the next words out of it to be "mumbo jumbo".  Gary started to grin, but then, behind Ezekiel's back, he saw Nessa and Father Malcolm exchange pointed glances.  Nessa's smile took on the glint of triumph, and Gary felt as if someone had slipped an ice cube down the back of his shirt.  That smile was aimed right at Morgelyn.

He followed it, saw his friend sitting there taking all this so seriously it might as well have been true; she was the only one with dark skin, the only one in a red dress, sticking out like the proverbial sore thumb.  He finally understood Fergus's earlier doubts, and why the bard was twitching next to him now.  Even Gary didn't stand out as much as Morgelyn did.  She was making herself a target.  But he didn't know how to stop it without making things worse.

"If it was a wizard, and not a dragon, why had he terrorized the people of Gwenyllan?" Morgelyn asked. 

Robert laughed, an eerie, fingernails-on-blackboard kind of sound.  "Efflam asked the same thing.  Dragon told him there was no curse without a blessing--"

"--and no blessing without a curse," Joseph finished.  "Of course.  My father used to tell me that all the time, but I never understood what he meant.  But what was the blessing?"

"Dragon slayer," Essie said with a cackle.  "Bet he was a handsome thing."

"Protection, woman!"  Robert waved his stick in Essie's direction, and Morgelyn pulled the old woman out of its way.  "Dragon slayer was protection.  Wizard said they would always have protection, as long as they believed in the old ways.  All he wanted--make 'em believe.  If nobody believes in wizards, they vanish--poof!"  He flung his arms wide, and Essie would have fallen into the well if Morgelyn hadn't caught her.  Drawing back into himself, he scowled even deeper, forehead creasing over his clouded eyes.  "That is why they promised."

"Who promised?  Promised what?" Joseph asked.

"That they would remember, fool.  That they would not forget the old magic.  Dragon left them a way to fight sickness, to call the dragon slayer, all kinds of protections, it's said.  Treasures and talismans.  Most of 'em gone now."

"I remember that, just barely," said Essie.  "No one ever believed that last part about the treasure--probably why they stopped telling it."

"Story's left in shards," Robert muttered.  "Gotta pick 'em all up if you want the truth."

"A way to call the dragon slayer?" Morgelyn whispered. 

Pinned to the spot where he stood, Gary fought the sensation of skin-crawling certainty that, even though everything the old man had said impossible, it was true.  Beside him, Fergus whistled quietly and bobbed on his toes.  Morgelyn stared at them over the heads of the children. 

"Better than that, right under their feet he left a cure for ailments and pestilence."  Laced with anger, Robert's voice was rising in intensity--and he was getting more coherent, Gary realized, which did nothing to ease Gary's mind about the truth of what the man was saying.  "Blessing in return for the curse.  As long as we remembered, it was there, a blessing for all."  He pounded his staff so hard that Tamsyn jumped.  "But you all forgot, and now it's gone, it was gone when we needed it most!  Fools!"

People backed away, looking confused or frightened or both. 

"Dragon's wort," Morgelyn said slowly, and Robert turned and sniffed in her direction.  "Grandmother always told me to look for dragon's wort near the river.  She knew what it looked like, what it could do--but we could never find any."

Robert nodded, his righteous indignation gone as quickly as it had come.  "Was never your fault, girl.  No one believed.  Takes more than one person to make a village of believers, takes more than one person to remember a story."

"Efflam stayed on, you know," Essie said.  "I do remember that part.  Up at the old manor house, that was his."

"Maybe the dragon's treasures are up there!" James bounced to his feet, his friends with him.  "We can go look--"

"Nothing there," Robert said, his scowl deepening until his eyes were nearly lost in the wrinkles around them.  "Nothing there at all.  I searched.  Nothing."  He started coughing again, though not as badly as the day before.  When he recovered his breath, he muttered, "We forgot.  We lost."

All around Gary, guilty looks skittered across their downturned faces--then someone sighed, someone else chuckled nervously, and the mood was broken.  "Ah, 'tis only a story," someone near him said.  "Would not have worked."

"Would not have worked because you did not believe!  Over the years you have all lost faith, and now where are you?  A loose lot of idiots, falling apart from your lack of belief!"  Robert stood, his voice taking on the same wild edge it had had the night before, and people started to drift away from the circle, some laughing, some scowling, many shaking themselves out of the story's spell.  "If you had kept the faith, we could have found the plant, found the dragon slayer, and my family would not have died!" 

"Robert--"  Morgelyn touched the old man's arm. 

"I told you not to play with fire!" he growled, turning on her.  Gary started for the pair, pushing through the rapidly-dispersing villagers like a salmon swimming upstream.

Father Ezekiel got there first.  He grabbed Robert by the elbow.  "Come, old man, let me feed you, eh?  A tankard of ale ought to put you in mind of better things."

Morgelyn stood, wonder and worry evident on her face as she stared after them.  Gary was about to say something to her, but a soft touch on his arm brought him up short.

"Magical treasures and dragon slayers.  What an amusing story--and yet, with a hint of truth."

Gary jumped at the familiar voice and saw Nessa standing right behind him.  "People still fear the pestilence, even now," she said.  "Think how much money they would pay for such a cure."

"Think how many lives could be saved," Morgelyn snapped, but Fergus drew her toward Lara and Tamsyn, and they fell into quiet conversation while Nessa kept Gary cornered.

"Have you considered my offer?"  Her eyes were alight with something more eager, and more dangerous, than they had been before.  Gary had the feeling that she, too, knew that what had just been said was more than a simple story.

"I--uh--I'm not sure--"

"Of course you are," she said, smiling confidence at him.  "I wish to speak to you, to help you remember your past and find where you truly belong."  She looked around the little village and wrinkled her nose.  When Gary didn't answer, she cocked her head.  "I suppose you to be a man of good manners?" 

Swallowing hard, Gary nodded.

Nessa slipped one of her rings, a small gold band set with a ruby, from her finger, and took Gary's hand in her own, turning it palm up.  "I know that if a lady were to vouchsafe her treasure into your keeping, you would not betray her trust."  Curling his unresisting fingers over the ring, she smiled, and Gary searched in vain for any sign of the warmth or friendliness he thought he'd seen there before.  It was gone, erased entirely by whatever she'd taken from the dragon's tale. 

"Bring me the ring tonight, good sir, and I shall show you how a true lady rewards her knight."  And with that, she was gone, her skirts swirling as she joined a group of giggling younger women.  She herded them all to a carriage that sat waiting on the edge of town. 

Gary gulped as he eyed the ring.  What was he supposed to do now?  He looked up and found Morgelyn regarding him from a few feet away with a frown that was more perplexed than hostile. 

"I will tell you what is worse than dragons, friend," said a rueful voice at Gary's elbow.  Fergus shook his head with a dramatic sigh.  "Women." 

Glaring at Fergus, Gary yanked his hood off and rubbed the back of his head, let the air cool the back of his neck.  Fergus chuckled.  "You must have skin as tender as a babe's."

"If you can put up with this stuff, yours must be as rough as a--"  Gary couldn't think of a good analogy that Fergus would know, and he didn't want to talk about sandpaper or anything with all these people around. 

"Really, Gary, I think it is a little early for a betrothal, don't you?"  Morgelyn's voice was wry as she joined them, pointing at his hand.

Gary opened his fist and looked at the ruby ring, then at his friends.  "Lemme ask you something--what does she want from me, anyway?" 

Fergus snorted.  "If you need me to tell you that, then you are not as wise as I took you to be."

"She wants the same thing Nia does; she is just a little less obvious," Morgelyn said.

"It's more than that."  Lowering his voice, Gary told them both, "You should have seen her when you and Robert started talking about treasure.  She knows something, I'm sure of it.  Plus she looked like she wanted to..."

"Eat you alive?" Fergus suggested.

"More like jump down somebody's throat to get what she wanted.  I think we--"  Gary meant Fergus, but it was Morgelyn he was looking at.  "I think we should go and see if we can find out what she's up to."

"That is your choice."  Morgelyn shrugged one shoulder.  "But whatever you do, be careful around her.  I do not trust her."

"I don't exactly, either," Gary admitted. 

"It is decided then!" Fergus said, rubbing his hands together and then hurrying off for his pack.  "Wait for me here, friend."

Gary watched Morgelyn roll her eyes at Fergus's back.  He took a deep breath.  "Do you think Robert was right?" he asked.  "Do you think the Dragon's Eye was really a gift from a wizard?"

"The story is so old, been twisted so many times, that I am not certain.  But I do think it is a bit of the old magic, and I think the story is around to explain it."  Morgelyn glanced over at the clearing near the river, where most of the villagers were building a bonfire.  "Think what it would mean to everyone here if they could believe a story like that," she said wistfully.  "And to be able to cure the illnesses that strike--it would mean a great deal indeed."

They both jumped at a sudden purr and a soft "meow." 

"You see?" Morgelyn asked, and bent to pick up the ginger tabby butting its head against her skirt.  "Even your cat agrees."

"For all I know, that thing's old enough to be a dragon," Gary said, narrowing his eyes at a very contented Cat.  "You think that's why I'm here?  To make people believe in this stuff?"  Morgelyn nodded, stroking the tabby with a thoughtful expression on her face.  Gary chewed on his lip for a minute.  He didn't want to tell Morgelyn about the looks Nessa had been shooting her, any more than he'd wanted to tell Marissa about the kids trading racial slurs and fighting.  If she was going to be a target, he wanted to know for what, and the way to do that had landed right in his lap--or rather, his palm.  "I think maybe I should see what Lady Nessa's up to," he muttered.

"I understand that, and I agree in principle, but Gary--"  Morgelyn swallowed, one hand wrapped around the loose skin and fur at Cat's neck.  Her face was still troubled; it reminded him of the look Marissa had worn when warning him about Kelyn Gillespie.  And here he was about to walk away again, and Fergus as well--but Gary couldn't go by himself.  Still...

"Be honest."  He leaned closer, lowering his voice.  "If you don't want me to go--look, are you gonna be okay here by yourself?"

She smiled at that.  "I am not alone.  I have my friends here, the people I have always known.  And now I have your cat."  The feline pressed itself closer to her, purring like a blender stuck on "mix". 

"It's just--"  Gary couldn't stop his glance from straying toward the tavern. 

Following his look, Morgelyn lowered her voice and tightened her hold on Cat.  "I know why you worry, and I promise to steer clear of rough waters--as long as you do the same."  After a moment of hesitation, Gary nodded.  "Just be sure you come home before the moon sets, or you might lose your way on the moor," she warned when Fergus returned with his pack.

"It'll only be a little while," Gary promised.  He stuck a finger in Cat's face.  "Behave yourself," he told it.  "Watch out for her." 

Morgelyn laughed at that. 

"Come along, Cinderella," Fergus said with a grin.  "We must hurry if we're to enjoy the ball before you turn into a pumpkin."

Gary looked back once, and saw Morgelyn watching them go, silhouetted by the growing flames of a bonfire the villagers were starting in the center of town.  He almost turned back, but she waved, and encouraged by that, he tromped off after Fergus, who was whistling happily. 

"Cinderella?"  Gary clutched the ring in his hand, hard and sharp at the edges, but beautiful.  Kind of like Nessa.  "Wouldn't that make you the ugly stepsister?"

"And Lady Nessa your fairy godmother," Fergus told him with a wicked grin. 

"Somehow," Gary muttered, "I don't see this ending happily ever after."





Chapter 43

Blind faith or hallucination,
How do you tell between the two?
          ~ Maria McKee


Halfhearted rain spattered the windshield as Crumb steered his car into the pre-rush hour traffic.  For the umpteenth time, he wished that he'd sprung for intermittent wipers.  He blew out a frustrated breath when the blades squeaked on the too-dry glass, which only filled up with drops the minute he turned them off. 

Of course, the scraping on the windshield wouldn't have gotten on his nerves so much if the inside of the car hadn't been too quiet for comfort.  Marissa sat stiffly in the seat next to him, a silent, exhausted Sphinx.  Clearing his throat, keeping his voice as guardedly casual as he could, he asked, "So what'd you find out?"

"To the Taoists, dragons were spirits that showed the way," she murmured, so softly that he wondered if she was even awake.  Wherever she was, it wasn't with him.  "The Celts drew dragons eating their own tails..."

"Huh.  Why would anything be dumb enough to eat itself?" Crumb wondered.  No answer, nothing about Hobson or crystal balls.  Just more windshield scraping and distant sirens.

"Where's Chuck?" she asked after another couple of blocks.

Speaking of dumb...but Crumb decided against saying that part out loud.  "I dunno."  Shrugging, he flipped the wipers on, then off again.  "Talked to him when I called your place this morning, but he wasn't there when I called back later."

Marissa sighed, wrapped her arms around the undergrown suitcase she carried as a purse, and tilted her head back against the seat.  Crumb snuck a look at her after he made the turn onto State Street.  He'd never been the most astute guy when it came to reading a woman's moods, but it didn't take a magnifying glass to see the wear and tear of the past few days on his passenger's face.  He waited out the silence for a few more minutes, but she didn't volunteer any more about what she'd been up to.

Would it  have killed her to let him in on the secret?  Sure, she was talking about dragons, but this wasn't Fishman and his karma; it wasn't Hobson babbling on about some "feeling".  It was Marissa Clark, and of all of them, she was the one he'd always credited with the most sense.  What if she was...what if she was right?  If she was getting at what he thought she was getting at, things were going to get way beyond spooky. 

He could only hold that thought for a few seconds.  It was easier to worry about what would happen if she said whatever it was to the wrong people.  They might not lock her up in a nuthouse, the way Fishman kept saying, but...well, he just didn't want her getting herself into too much trouble, that was all.   

"What?"  Marissa's voice was heavy; her eyes were closed. 

"Huh?"

She turned her head toward him without lifting it from the back of the seat.  "You just--it seemed like you wanted to say something."

Crumb chewed his lip and tapped the steering wheel for a couple of seconds before he said, "Well, first of all--look, don't let Nick get to you when she starts asking questions, okay?  She's really frustrated by this case, and if it seems to come out when she's questioning you, it's not you she's frustrated with.  No one is, no matter what they say or do.  It's just--times like this, this is how most people get.  Believe me, I've seen it all." 

Frustrated, helpless, grief-stricken, batshit crazy.  Trainwrecks all, Crumb thought. 

"Why would I think that--"  Marissa sat up, eyebrows drawing together.  "Crumb, what is this really all about?"

"Nothin', they're--they're just trying to get all the facts."

"Facts?  Before you said truth."

Crumb frowned.  "Yeah, so?"

"Truth is bigger than facts," Marissa mumbled to the raindrops on the window.

"Oh.  Well, yeah, I guess you're right."  Crumb blinked and realized, as horns began to protest behind him, that the light had changed.  All this philosophical mumbo-jumbo was a bit much for a guy to take.  He really just wanted to help Marissa brace herself for all the questions she was about to be plagued with, both from Nick Piovani and, if his suspicions were right, from Lois and Bernie Hobson.  "You can't let them get to you, no matter who it is, no matter what they say."

She was too quick, even exhausted; she caught what he hadn't said and sat up even straighter, blinking.  "Crumb?  Who else will be there?"

"Maybe the Hobsons," he finally admitted.  He pulled around a CTA bus, studiously checking all his mirrors before he added, "They've been hanging around the pier all day, and now probably the station.  Lois is insistent that the police find out what happened.  So is Bernie, but he's pretty much burned his bridges as far as getting anyone there to take him seriously."

"Oh.  Okay." 

It wasn't the reaction he'd expected, just two words, laden with resignation, while she picked at the cuff of her sweater.  Crumb chewed on his lip.  Even as he pulled into the precinct's parking lot, he was more than half-tempted to turn the car around and take her home.  But he'd promised Nick, and it was better to get it over with.  Had to be.  He eased into the only free parking place and thought, not for the first time, that nothing drove home his civilian status like having to take a visitor's spot.  "We're here."

Marissa was already out of the car when he came around to the passenger's side, but she reached over and grabbed his hand, her aim as unerring as if she could see it, when he went to open the back door to let Spike out. 

"Crumb?  Thank you for...for taking care of--of all of us.  I know it can't be easy."

Jaizus, saints, and angels, the ghost of Jimbo McNab, his first precinct captain, whispered in his ear.  Just when he'd thought this couldn't get any harder.  What'd she have to go thanking him for?  Had to swallow hard before he could answer, and his attempt at a lighthearted tone wouldn't even fool the dog. 

"Trust me, kiddo, you're the easiest of the bunch."

He led her inside the station and up the stairs, crowding on the steps with Spike just ahead of them.  The noise and bustle of the reception area smacked them in the face when they got to the top, and Marissa's fingers tightened around his arm.  It really wasn't any worse than usual, Crumb thought--it just seemed that way.  This was how a police station was supposed to be.  In downtown Chicago, there were no off hours.  Human misery, tragedy, and minor annoyances didn't follow a schedule, and there were plenty of humans in this corner of the world. 

Plenty of misery right now, too.

"Okay, we're gonna go through the lobby and the bullpen here, just straight ahead."

Marissa nodded.  "I've been here before." 

Of course she had--Crumb had been here those times too--but always before it had been with Hobson.  Except that one time, when that creep Marley--

He cleared his throat, figuring that was the last thing he needed to remind her of.  "Nick's got a conference room in the back where you can talk if this is too much--"

"Let's get it over with."  All the resignation was gone from her voice; all the steel was back.  Marissa squared her shoulders and started forward. 

Crumb steered her to Nick's desk, where the newly-appointed sergeant was busy with a pile of paperwork.  She looked tired, Crumb noted, and her hair was windblown, escaping from its braid.  No doubt she'd spent most of the morning out at the lake.  After a stilted re-introduction, Crumb guided Marissa to a chair, then stepped aside to give Spike room to settle down.  "I'll be back in a few minutes," he promised, with an awkward pat on Marissa's shoulder.  He let his eyes meet Nick's, let them bore into her with an unspoken command, and tried not to see the way Marissa clenched her hands into fists in her lap and nodded her head, stiff as a doll. 

"All right," she whispered. 

He'd promised Nick an uninterrupted interview in exchange for her patience.  By rights this should have happened yesterday, or even the night before; traumatic memories usually faded or warped quickly.  Crumb had a feeling, though, that Marissa Clark wasn't going to forget anything that had happened on the pier.  Nor would she change her story, even though it wasn't, he was sure, the whole story.  He wondered if and when she'd tell him the rest of it.

He wondered how much of it he really wanted to know.

"All right.  Let's start with what you and Mr. Hobson were doing down at the pier in the first place..."

Crumb ambled back into the bullpen, nodding at the waves and mock-salutes of his former colleagues as he passed.  Most of them were too busy to be curious about his presence, but then Joe Bosonak spotted him and waved him over.  "Hey, MZ, how's it going?  Take a look at this stack of cases I gotta go through before the end of the month, can you believe this?  How's retirement treatin' ya?  What're ya doin' back here, anyways?"

Before Crumb could come up with even one answer, Joe was steering him toward the break room for coffee.  Crumb let himself be led, figuring it was the least he could do for his old friend.  Didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Patty had kicked the guy out again, and he was hanging around the precinct in his off hours trying to fight off the loneliness. 

By the time another cop took pity on Crumb and called Joe over to consult on a robbery investigation, thirty minutes had passed.  At least, that was according to his watch.   Maybe it was fast--way too fast, he thought, when he risked a glance to the back corner.  From what he could see, Marissa hadn't moved.  Her head bobbed a little when she spoke, but her shoulders were drawn back, her spine straight and stiff as a broomstick.  Someone who didn't know her might call the pose standoffish, but Crumb knew there was more to it than that.  She was afraid--of cracking, of breaking down, especially among strangers and maybe at all; of the full impact of what had happened hit her like the twenty-ton Mack truck it was.  But somehow, sometime, she was gonna have to let it.  He decided against going for more coffee, and settled in to watch, leaning one elbow against the reception desk.  Spike looked back at him once, then resumed his alert position, head raised, ears pointed at Nick.

"Marion?"

Crumb swiveled on his heel and found Lois and Bernie Hobson right behind him.  Yesterday when he'd seen them down at the lake, their car still cooling from their drive from Indiana, they'd been two separate people with two different, equally shocked and angry reactions.  Today, he saw right away, they were a pair, a team, shoulders touching as they stood before him, each holding the other up.

"Hey."  He met Lois's eyes, and they shared a sad, almost-smile.  They'd been through something like this once before, he and Lois.  Crumb cringed as he recalled what he'd said to her then, about her son's propensity for getting out of trouble as easily as he got into it.  About somebody or something watching out for him.  Now her eyes asked why it hadn't been true two days ago, and he had no answer.  He was dead weary of, as Marissa had called it, "Taking care of everyone."

Hobson Sr. shifted nervously from foot to foot, his gaze skittering away from Crumb.  "We came back to see if there was any news."

"And Bernie wants to apologize for his explosion yesterday.  Don't you?"  Lois's eyes hardened as she fixed her husband with a firm glare.  The first time he'd met Bernie Hobson, Crumb had pegged him as a blowhard, more likely to be Fishman's dad than that of the soft-spoken weirdo who showed up in his office every now and then.  Now the guy fumbled his words, and Crumb thought he detected the origin of his kid's nervous stutter.

"Yeah.  I--uh--you know--"

"I know."  Crumb felt too sorry for the guy to let his awkward ways bother him.  He and Evelyn had never had any kids, but he'd seen enough parents lose their children to know what the Hobsons were up against.  "There's no news, except they're--well, you know about them calling off the search this afternoon."  Before they could answer, he went on, "I'm here with Marissa."  He indicated Nick's desk in the corner with a wave of his hand.  "They didn't have her formal statement yet, and they needed her to--uh--to close the case."

"My son is not a case."  Even though her voice wobbled, Lois's eyes flashed brittle fire.

Abashed, Crumb said, "No, of course he's not.  I just meant--well, they need closure for this part of the investigation."

"I want to hear what she has to say."  Lois took a step toward the back of the room, but Bernie touched her shoulder. 

"Not yet."

Crumb rubbed the back of his neck while he thought things over.  Now might not be the best time for this, but on the other hand, shielding Marissa as much as he had might have been a bad idea, too.  All those books in the back seat of his car weren't going to bring Hobson back.  She had to get through this, and so did the Hobsons.  Maybe together they could find a way that Crumb hadn't been able to give them.  "She's pretty tired, but maybe you could all--uh--"

Lois wasn't listening; she was staring past Crumb, her blue eyes as intense as lasers.  "What is she telling them, Marion?  What does she know?"

"She's gonna tell the police everything she can."  Crumb's gaze met Lois's, and he felt a stab of guilt.  She knew there was more to this than what the police could tell or be told, more than they could even begin to understand.  But it wasn't his place to say what that "more" might be.

He was saved when he heard, somehow, all the way across the room, chairs scrape and dog tags jingle.  He caught Nick's wave, nodded, and hurried over just in time to catch the standard, "Thanks, and if we have any more questions, we'll be in touch.  And please," Nick added, deviating from the script with real humanity, "accept my condolences--"

Marissa wasn't accepting anything of the kind, Crumb knew.  But she nodded anyway.  "Thank you.  Good-bye, Sergeant."

"You okay?"  Crumb touched her elbow as they both turned away from the desk.  Three steps, then she reached belatedly for Spike's harness, blinking fiercely. 

"Yes.  No.  I don't--"

Bernie Hobson cleared his throat, right at Crumb's back.  Damn, they'd followed him.  He'd hoped to at least give her a warning.  "Gary's parents are here," would have to suffice.  "They want to talk to you."  To anyone else, to Nick, for example, it would sound fairly innocuous.  But he'd used Hobson's first name on purpose, and Marissa was too sharp not to notice that.  Her eyes went round, but she didn't have a chance to say anything.

"Marissa, sweetheart--" 

Crumb stepped back out of the way, nearly tripping over Spike, as Marissa was enfolded in Lois's arms, a motherly embrace that she must have been waiting to bestow on someone for the past two days.  Bernie nearly smothered the poor girl when his turn came, and she tottered back, both hands on the dog's harness for balance. 

"What happened out there?" Lois pleaded.  "What happened to our son?"

Marissa ran her hands along the handle of Spike's harness, and she sounded as if she were strangling.  "Lois, I don't--Gary--"

They all jumped when a detective emerged from his office, barking out commands.  "Jacobs, Dineas, you're with me, NOW!"

"Let's at least get out of the way, huh?"  Like an oversized sheep dog, Crumb herded the three--four, counting Spike--toward the lobby exit.  They stopped just to the side of the door.

"How are you holding up?" Marissa asked.

"It's been a long day for all of us," Lois said.  The lines around her eyes deepened.  "But we need to talk."

Neither of the Hobsons seemed to notice how stiff Marissa's nod was, or how she pulled into herself, shrinking into her coat like a turtle.  But Crumb had spent a lot of years watching people, and her reaction struck him as slightly desperate.  But what was wrong with talking to Hobson's folks?  He'd give dollars to doughnuts they knew about all that paper mumbo-jumbo, so surely she could tell them whatever it was she was holding back from him.

"Yeah, and I'm starvin'.  Let's talk over dinner.  I'm buying."  Bernie wrapped his arm around Marissa's; tucked it in tight.  She looked trapped, petrified.  Still, Crumb was sure--pretty sure, anyway--that this would be good, and that if Hobson's parents needed to talk to her, she needed them just as much.

"I gotta go home," he announced.  "You guys go ahead."

"But Crumb," Marissa protested, her voice rising, "I can't--all my books are in your car and--"  That elicited puzzled looks from the Hobsons, and Crumb cut her off before she could say any more.

"You can get them tomorrow."

"I need them tonight."

If she'd been five years old, Crumb was pretty sure she would have stomped her foot.  "Don't worry about it," he tried to assure her, "I'll take them to your house."

"Spike needs to be fed."

Heads swiveling back and forth, Bernie and Lois watched the exchange like a Ping-Pong match. 

"I'll take him home for ya."

"Chuck--"

"Fishman can take care of himself." 

Marissa opened her mouth to protest again, but Lois touched her shoulder.

"Marissa, please.  It would mean so much to me, to us, if you would come."

Crumb felt as much as saw the fresh stab of sorrow in Lois's voice, in Marissa's wince.  Those two definitely needed each other.  Luckily, Marissa was too kind to say no to Hobson's mother.  She finally nodded, disentangling herself from Bernie's grip long enough to hand Spike's harness and her keys to Crumb.

"Chuck has my spare key, but you can leave this one with Mrs. Gunderson.  She lives on the right."

"Got it."  Crumb thought about reaching out, just giving her hand a squeeze or something, but he hesitated, and the moment was gone.

Marissa sighed when Bernie took her arm again, and Crumb wondered how much longer she'd hold together.  Maybe it would be better if she didn't.

Spike whined as the three walked out the door, then turned his huge brown eyes on Crumb.

"Aw, what are you lookin' at?"  He scowled, digging through his pockets for the car keys.  "Trust me," he muttered as they started down the stairs, "this is for the best."






Feedback:  'Tis a consumation devoutly to be wished.   peregrin_anna@hotmail.com


  On to Part 7