Dexter of Pozzelby

  “Do others know about the hidden passages?” I wondered.

  Brin shrugged. “A few, I guess. I’ve never seen anyone here, or talked to anyone who has come here, but I’ve seen fresh footprints.”

  “Recently?”

  “I guess so,” she was already leading us out of the moldy kitchen.

  “Can you show me?” I asked, curious about who else might come here.

  “Next time. We’re going to explore the stairs today, remember?”

  I followed along, nervously peering into the darkness that lay outside of the radius of the light given off by Brin’s crystal. It was frightening and amazing. Furniture still stood in rooms, painting hung from walls, like life had been interrupted midstream when this portion of the castle had been sealed.

  “How much of this have you explored?”

  “Some. If you go too far, you can run into things from inside of the mountain, or under it, or wherever it is that they come from. They don’t usually come this close to the new castle—maybe they can smell the people. The parts that are closed are ten times bigger than what we use, so the monsters have plenty of room.”

  The idea of monsters wandering around that could smell people did nothing to comfort me.

  “You told me that you saw a monster in here once. Was that true?”

  Brin nodded, her glasses bounced up and down on the end of her nose. “Once I did. I went further than I should have. I came to a big ballroom. There was still a huge chandelier hanging there and everything. I was halfway across the room when I heard this squishy choking sound.”

  My eyes were huge. I wanted to turn back. But I just said, “What happened?”

  “I hid in a corner behind a tapestry and put out my light. The noise got closer. Then I could hear footsteps, only they sounded more like clacking then people steps. I could tell it was going past the ballroom and I was just hoping that it would keep going. Then the noise stopped. That was worse. I didn’t know where it was. I imagined it was creeping up on me, then told myself that I was being silly, that it had probably left. Then I heard a tiny little crunch not ten feet from me.”

  “What happened!?”

  “I panicked. I threw back the tapestry and pulled out my light. It was right there in front of me, only three or four steps away. It was awful looking. Not tall, only as tall as me, but wide with long arms and claws that looked like hooks. It was very hairy and had these big, black eyes and a huge nose. I screamed and almost dropped my light. I thought it was going to eat me right there.”

  “But it didn’t?” I asked, not even realizing what a stupid question it was.

  “No. Those big eyes let it see pretty good in the dark, but my bright light hurt it. It screamed louder than I did, covered it face, and ran away. It ran right into a wall and fell over. I ran too, in the opposite direction, back the way I had come. I didn’t stop until I was in my bedroom. I didn’t go exploring for almost three months after that. Now, I try not to go so far and I stay away from the underground parts,” Brin told me.

  “What about this new stairwell you found? Where’s that at?” I was hoping she would say ‘right over here,’ or better, ‘let’s come another day.’ I think I’m as brave as most, but I could not stop thinking about squishy, bug-eyed monsters with long hooks for hands. Brin’s crystal gave off excellent light, but beyond the light, the darkness was absolute. And there were lots of places where something could hide.

  “It’s a hidden stairwell. It goes up, so it should be alright,” she said.

  She led me on a twisting tour through halls and up stairs. I wondered how much time had already passed in here; it felt like hours. At least we didn’t have to worry about getting lost. With the thick dust, following our own footprints back should be easy.

  Finally, we arrived in what looked like someone’s study. If the dust hadn’t been just as thick here as it had been in the rest of the sealed areas, I could have easily imagined that the room was still in use. Two wine glasses sat on a wide table between two chairs. A long pipe rested in an ashtray, some burnt leaf still rested in the bowl and the cloying odor of the weed faintly lingered in the room. A wine rack in the far corner held three unopened bottles. Next to the rack, on the wall, was a tapestry with the colors barely faded, depicting fields with fair-looking people at work and vines making up the border. The vines looked almost as if there was some sort of writing woven in, but I couldn’t make out any of the words. There was bookshelf—mostly empty except for some old volumes on agriculture, a fire place, and a full length mirror. Etched across the top of the mirror were the words, For Truest Knowledge Look Within. I didn’t see a staircase.

  “Where are the stairs? Behind the bookcase?” I asked, pulling out the books one at a time.

  “No, silly. It’s behind the mirror,” Brin said. “Look at the tapestry in the mirror.”

  I looked. Reflected, the words in the vines could be read. Happy Returns, they said.

  “Happy returns?” I said, puzzled.

  The mirror swung open on a hinge. Beyond it was a long, wooden staircase, which was a little unusual because all of the staircases that I seen so far were made of stone. The stairs went up and around—there were about fifty of them in all. The dust wasn’t so heavy here either, just a thin coating on the polished wood.

  Side by side, we climbed the stairs, which creaked at every step. I strained to hear the slightest noise, but I could hear nothing except the sounds of our footsteps and my own pounding heartbeat. The stairs ended at what looked like a small library. I wondered for a moment if this could be the library, but I quickly decided that it was not—it was too small. There were perhaps ten thousand volumes here, on cluttered shelves and stacked on the floor. The legendary library of Pozzelby Castle was reputed to contain a million books.

  Besides the books, little else was in the room. There were two tables, one in the room’s center and one shoved up against the far wall. There were a few wooden chairs that were arranged haphazardly around the tables and one comfortable-looking lounge chair. The only other item that I could see was a full length mirror, similar in size and shape to the one that had hidden the stairs.

  “Is there something a little strange about that mirror?” I asked Brin. “Does it look to you like it’s reflecting more light than your gem is producing?”

  “I don’t know, maybe. I can turn off my light.”

  “Okay, try it.”

  Brin extinguished her light. Sure enough, the mirror seemed to possess a luminescence of its own—not terribly bright, but it was definitely radiating a faint, bluish glow. We walked over to it.

  “Turn your light back on,” I said, whispering again. The darkness seemed to require hushed voices.

  A moment later, Brin’s gem flared back to life. I looked into the mirror. My heart froze and my body tensed. I could see myself and I could see Brin reflected plainly. Unfortunately, I also saw the ghostly figure that floated out from between the shelves behind us. It looked right at us and came floating closer.

  Chapter Four

  The heroic deeds of the Four Kings of Pozzelby are well-documented. But the deeds were not accomplished without the aid of the kings’ equally powerful allies. In the final quest that brought about the end of the Unified War, Korric, Coenbrand, Theof, and Jeremiah, were accompanied by four close friends: Veraxe, who was at the time the Lord Mayor of Bagwar’s Run; the Lady Jane, Korric’s adopted daughter and a fierce fighter whose later personal tragedies have become legendary; Jgell, the high priestess of Eridan; and the Lady Nightshade, wife of Jeremiah and a powerful wizard who came to be called simply, ‘The Archmage.’

  Excerpted from J. R. Grimble’s Pozzelby: A History

  “Can I help you?” asked the pale, translucent figure.

  “Ahhh,” was all that I could think of to say.

  Except for the fact that I could see through him and he was floating about two feet above the fl
oor, the figure before us was actually unremarkable looking. He appeared to be a middle aged man with a sharply receded hairline. He wore round glasses that were perched on the end of a razor-thin nose. His clothes were non-descript, like something a clerk might wear.

  Finally, I managed to squeak out, “Who are you?”

  “My name is Jonathan. I am the librarian here. Is there anything that I can help you find?”

  “Err?”

  “Do you have something caught in your throat? If you don’t mind me asking, who are you? I don’t get many new patrons here.”

  “Dexter. My name is Dexter. This is Brin,” I said finally finding my voice. “You’re a ghost then?”

  “That is one term for it, I suppose. Ghost, phantom, apparition, spook. I prefer the term biologically challenged if we must apply labels. What are you then?”

  “Just a boy, a regular boy.”

  “And she is a regular girl, I suppose,” Jonathan said. He leaned in and took a closer look at Brin. “Or an irregular girl perhaps.”

  Brin stomped her foot. “I am not irregular. I am a witch. And Dexter is the king. You should be nicer.”

  “No offense meant. Irregular is usually much more interesting than regular. So you are a king. Where’s your crown?”

  “It chafes.”

  “So I have heard. You must live in the castle then. That would explain it.”

  “Explain what?”

  “Why I did not see you come out of the mirror. It has been sometime since anyone from the castle came here. I had nearly forgotten about it. For the last few hundred years only the library’s patroness has visited. She always comes in through the mirror.”

  “Who is the patroness?” Brin asked.

  “Oh, a great lady. You would like her, I’m sure. She built this library. It is her own personal collection, not that she ever begrudged its use to her friends. Her name is Nightshade. Perhaps you’ve heard of her? She used to live in the castle too,” Jonathan said hopefully.

  I had heard of her; who hadn’t? But I was having a difficult time wrapping my mind around the implications of the ghostly librarian’s statement. Surely I had misheard.

  “Jonathan, it sounded like you were saying that Nightshade, the Nightshade, who was called the Archmage, still pops in here from time to time.”

  “That is correct, though she has not visited in a little over a fortnight,” he said.

  “But she would have to be well over three hundred years old. Is she alive, or is she a ghost like you?”

  “Lady Nightshade is very much alive. As for her age, as a gentleman, I have never inquired.”

  Something occurred to me. I had not seen a clock in the library. There were no windows and it was always dark. How could Jonathan judge time. Besides, for all that I knew fifty years might seem like a week to a ghost. Surprisingly, Brin asked the question before I could. Jonathan did not seem the least bit affronted.

  “We biologically challenged individuals have an innate sense of time. For instance, it has been two hundred and seventy-three years, one hundred days since I died. And I’d say that it is just about three o’clock in the afternoon,” the ghost said.

  I did not know how much time had passed since Brin and I had entered the secret corridor, but I thought that Jonathan’s estimate sounded pretty good.

  “She travels using the mirror?” I asked, looking it up and down. “Where does she come from? How does it work?”

  The ghost sat down on the edge of the nearby table. I found it humorous that a ghost would need or want to sit down.

  “Yes, Nightshade generally visits by stepping through the mirror. I believe that there is a twin located in her current home, which is somewhere near Unity Isle, though I couldn’t say for certain where. As to how the mirror works—the quick answer is magic. I understand that you are inquiring about the exact mechanism of the mirror’s operation, but as to that, I haven’t the slightest idea. Though the Lady sort of waves at it when she leaves, if that’s helpful.”

  Cautiously, I touched the surface of the mirror with my fingertip, pulling it away after the briefest contact. Nothing happened, so I touched it again. It felt like normal cold, glass.

  “Please try not to smudge it,” said the librarian.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  I waved at the mirror. It just sat there. I tried again with the same result. Brin came over and tried, waving and using verbal commands.

  “Work! Open up! Please?” she said.

  Nothing.

  “Well, it looks like we’re not going to get this working today,” I said.

  I started to feel pressed to get back. If Jonathan’s estimate of the time was right, it would be near dinner by the time we reached my rooms. If I wasn’t missed yet, I would be then. And considering the current climate, people would be prone to think the worst. Perhaps I should have thought about this more. But if I hadn’t come, then I wouldn’t have discovered Nightshade’s library. (Brin really discovered it and would have done just fine without you, a deep, inner voice said.)

  “Jonathan, we should be going. But is it alright if I come back and bring a friend, in addition to Brin here?” I asked.

  “Certainly, a library is nothing without patrons. Come back anytime, the sooner the better.”

  ****

  When Brin and I reached my rooms, it was just as I had feared. I could hear a commotion in my suite as we approached the exit behind the couch. Tayu’s voice cut through the noise.

  “The only way out of the suite is by where you four were supposed to be keeping guard! So where is he?” she was saying.

  “Respectfully, we never left our post and the king never came out. There are other ways out of the suite—the windows...”

  “The windows are fifty up, and they are watched from below,” she said. “Notify Layred Vu and start a castle-wide search.”

  I backed up slowly.

  “Is there another place we can come out?” I whispered.

  Brin nodded and waved for me to follow. A few minutes later we came out into a storeroom filled with shelves and shelves of pots, vials, jars, and bottles. It looked like something from one of Francis’ dreams come to life. As I stepped out into the room an overwhelming wave of scent washed over me and I felt momentarily faint as a thousand different odors tried to ram their way up my nostrils at once.

  “What is that?” I gasped.

  “Three hundred year old perfume. Some of the bottles have leaked or broken over the years. Some old queen named Chele collected them. No one ever comes here because of the smell,” Brin explained.

  “Queen Chele? That was King Coenbrand’s wife. She’d be my grandmother, by several greats; I’m not sure how many offhand.”

  Suddenly, we froze. From the other side of the shelf that we were facing, something fell with a dull thud. Then I heard footsteps and a door open and close. Someone had been in here and had left in a hurry when they had heard us.

  I peeked around the shelf. No one was there. But they had left something in the middle of the floor.

  “That’s a magical circle,” Brin said looking down at the red diagram that was drawn on the floor. “It’s for casting spells and stuff. My mom had drawings like that.”

  “What kind of spell and who was doing it? Brin, Francis should see this. Would you wait here by the door while I go and find him. Don’t let anyone in until I get back.”

  “Okay.”

  I opened the door a little and looked out, the hallway was empty. Apparently, the odor of Queen Chele’s collection kept the whole section pretty vacant. Whoever had been in here seemed to be long gone. Still, I moved slowly, half expecting that someone might jump out from around a corner.

  It only took a minute to get back to a populated section of the castle. It was crowded as usual. I knew that I was being searched for, but I did not see any guards in the immediate area. I went down the hall that s
eemed the most populated. I was suddenly aware of the fact that I was covered in dirt and cobwebs. No wonder that the looks I was getting were less of reverence than of mild revulsion. No one seemed to recognize me.

  Then I picked out a familiar sight—a gaudy yellow hat bobbing up and down in the throng.

  “Doctor Ahem!”

  The hat stopped and the old doctor turned slowly at the sound of his name.

  “What’s that?” he said. “Ah, Decker, isn’t it? King now? Very good. What can I do for you?”

  “I need to find my friend, Francis. He’s staying in the Gardener’s Tower, but I’m lost,” I told him.

  “Ah, surely I can help. I was just going to see to some boils,” he said hefting a sack. “But they can wait a few minutes, certainly.”

  He escorted me for a minute or two before we ran into a squad of guards; Porknoy was at their head.

  “King Dexter! Thank Eridan that you are alright. We have been worried sick looking for you.”

  “I’m fine, Corporal. But I need Francis. Do any of you men know where Queen Chele’s perfume room is?”

  Most of squad, barring two that had come with us from Earmund knew where it was.

  “Corporal, would you and one of the men who knows where that is go and find Francis and bring him there. I need the rest to come back there with me. I left Brin, and there is a small chance that she could be in danger alone.”

  “Of course, Sire,” said Porknoy. “But I will need one of them to run a message to the castellan to tell him that you have been found.”

  Doctor Ahem left to attend to his boils. I thanked him and then started back to where I had left Brin.

  When we arrived back at the perfume storage room, (which did not smell as bad this time around, I guess my olfactory senses had already been deadened) General Till was standing at the door looking down at Brin, who was doing her best to take up the whole doorway.

  “Move aside, girl, or I will move you!” he said.

  “The king said no one could go in until he came back!” Brin countered, not the least bit intimidated.

  It looked like General Till was going to shove Brin out of his way. He was so angry with her that he had not noticed me come around the corner with five members of the guard.