Page 75 of Charmless
I blinked back the tears from my eyes and tried to think. “I have heard him mention some pirate friend of his named Waldo the Wharf Rat and I think sometimes they sail to the Isle of Lothmara. But he also spoke of traveling to some place in the swamps where the exiles have set up camp or he could?—”
I pulled away from him, shaking my head. “I have no real idea. I thought I knew Mal so well, but I don’t know him at all.” I gazed up at Horatio despairingly. “What are we going to do if you can’t return the orb to the king’s wizard by sunset?”
“Perhaps I will be able to persuade Sidney Greenleaf to allow me a little more time.” Horatio gave me a reassuring smile, but I could see the worry clouding in his eyes. “I’ll go to the Hawk’s Nest. Maybe there’s still a chance I can intercept Hawkridge and thrash some sense into him. Or at least find some clue to where he is headed.”
I snuffled and nodded. “I’ll come.”
“No. There is nothing more you can do, Ella. Now you must let me handle things my way.” His voice softened as he added, “You have been through quite enough for one day. Go home and wait for me there. I’ll come to you as soon as I can.”
He caressed my cheek. I could tell that he was loath to leave me in such a state of distress. With one last regretful look, he hurried off down the street. I stood there and meekly watchedhim go, making no attempt to follow. Because what good could I possibly do? I set off in the opposite direction, feeling utterly useless.
There was little left of the Ella who had strode into Misty Bottoms, scarcely an hour ago, fancying herself like the brave Queen Anthea, believing I could recover that orb, prevent Mal and Horatio from fighting and somehow set the entire world right again.
I was nothing like Anthea the Magnificently Wise. I was Ella the Pathetic. Ella the Defeated. Ella the Obfuscated! Deceived not just by the man I had considered my closest friend, but by my own father as well. How many secrets had Papa kept from me over the years, his career as a royal court advocate, his rivalry with King August for my mother’s love, the part he had played in ending my romance with Ryland.
My father should have told me about his participation in this rebellious League. Mal’s grandfather had thought Mal too feckless to trust with any secrets. It hurt to think that Papa might have had a similar view of me. But I immediately rejected that notion.
He had often called me his clever girl and he had had enough faith in me to leave me in charge of his will. So why had he never breathed a word to me about his past, his connection with that strange orb and the search for the missing prince? Had he considered me too young to be burdened with such dangerous knowledge? If he had not died so suddenly, perhaps he would have told me everything, especially about that mysterious scrap of parchment hidden in the ‘sack witches’ book.
My fingers strayed to the bodice of my gown, checking that the page was still safely tucked away. I was convinced that I had been right not to share what I had found with Mal, not wanting to encourage his mad obsession with the orb.
Once I would have been prepared to swear that Hiram Hawkridge, my father, and Mal were all the most sensible of men. I didn’t understand how they could have been seduced by this legend of a long-lost prince. The orb was reputed to have been designed by the fairies, yet I had not sensed anything magical about it when I stole the little glass globe from the treasury room. Of course, I had handled it only briefly and I had been wearing gloves at the time.
As I reached the outskirts of Misty Bottoms, the first shadow of a doubt crept into my mind. What if Mal, his grandfather, and my father were not wrong? What if there was some truth to the legend?
I tried to shake off the absurd notion. But once I allowed myself to entertain one doubt, others followed, nipping at my heels like a parcel of hungry river rats. What if Mal’s belief in this missing prince was not just wishful imagining? What if the orb could lead us to Queen Anthea’s true heir, the one prophesied to save our kingdom?
If the idea was absurd, whydidthe Great Mercato want that orb back so badly? If Horatio managed to retrieve the orb from Mal and return it to the king’s wizard, would that be a huge mistake?
I didn’t know, but if I could not obtain any answers to these questions, I was doomed to be haunted by doubt for the rest of my life. I pressed my hand to my brow, trying to recall all that I had witnessed in my father’s library, the identity of the stranger seated in the chair. If only there was some way to recover the rest of that memory.
But perhaps there was.
My breath caught in my throat as I thought of the one person who might be able to help me. The same person who had stolen that shard of my aura, who would be capable of translating the page torn from Hiram Hawkridge’s diary. Withypole Fugitate.
I had long suspected the irascible fairy knew a great deal more about my father’s past than he was willing to tell me. I had not had much luck in compelling information from him. But as the sun broke through the clouds, it ignited a spark within me, of determination and rebelliousness. I had allowed myself to be obfuscated for long enough. Time to get some answers.
I pivoted and headed back to the Bottoms, aware that I was once again ignoring Horatio’s orders. But if there was any chance for us to have a future together, there was one thing that my beloved would have to understand about me. I was not a just-go-home-and-wait kind of girl.
Fugitate’s Fancys was little more than a shack, unfortunately located next to the Snigglery. The strong odor emanating from barrels of pickled eels assailed my nostrils as I worked my way around the puddles barring my path. As I approached the shop, I tried to formulate my plan of attack. Withypole usually resisted giving any answers to my questions. My best chance for gaining information from him would be to employ a ruse. I would reveal that I had found that missing page and imply that I knew far more than I did about the orb and my father’s role in the league in hopes of tricking Withypole into telling me more.
Preoccupied with rehearsing what I would say and avoiding the mud, I nearly collided with a customer leaving Withypole’s shop. I looked up to find Delphine blocking my path, her hair at its deepest black, her eyes snapping with malice.
I reeled back, swearing softly, “Frap!” As if this day had not already been bad enough.
“Well, look who it is.” The witch sneered. “The very person I was hoping to see. You and I have unfinished business, missy.”
Delphine raised her arms, curling her fingers in a menacing fashion, clearly expecting me to flee in terror. But Mal had told me she could not cast spells out of thin air. Even if she could, I was beyond caring.
“Go ahead. Curse me with warts or boils or whatever,” I said. “Just do it, then get out of my way because I have no time to waste.”
Looking puzzled and disappointed by my response, Delphine lowered her arms. She peered intently at my face and frowned.
“You have been crying,” she accused, pointing at my eyes. “You have Mal and a prince dangling after you. What haveyougot to be so miserable about?”
“I am not miserable. Sometimes I cry when I am furious, so you would be well advised not to trifle with me today. And as for Mal, if you want the wretch, you are welcome to him. I am done with the man. Our friendship is entirely at an end.”
Delphine folded her arms, her raised eyebrows revealing her skepticism. “Really? What did the rogue do to get your drawers into such a twist?”
