Beyond the light-rail maintenance building, heading under the freeway overpass, was a stretch of undeveloped land choked with tall weeds. The light-rail bike path to the downtown library ran straight through it and isolated riders from view.
Ben was riding his bike in front of me, and Werling behind, when we were attacked! Six wild, mangy dogs leapt out from the high weeds ahead of us, to the left and right. The lead dog raced straight at me from the right, and I just knew he was going to spring. His yellow teeth were horrible, but what froze my heart were his eyes. They were red. I veered, but the dog suddenly howled in pain, stumbled as he sprang, and somersaulted past me. The second one yipped and jumped away, pawing at its face.
“Jeebus! What is this?” I cried.
“Keep going, Wendy. Around to the right,” Ben shouted as he rode straight at the third dog on our left. This one must have realized his friends were howling for some reason, because he danced away from Ben. I pumped my pedals like mad. The remaining three lost their momentum, and I got past them before they turned. I didn’t look back to see. The patter of feet quickened behind me and sounded like they were closing on us.
Werling pulled alongside me and turned in his seat to shoot a stream of sharp-smelling stuff back at the closest dog. I heard a royal yowl and no more pitter-patter of scary feet.
“Don’t slow down,” Ben urged. Like he had to tell me? He rode up on my other side.
I was going all out. With Ben and Werling next to me I chanced a glance back. Four dogs were down, writhing on the ground. The last two were standing, snarling at us as we got away.
“What happened?” I gasped. I got a colossal stitch in my side as we cleared the underpass and headed into town. Up ahead was the Cedar-Riverside LRT station.
Ben said, “Get past the station, then we’ll slow down and talk.”
We breezed through and glided. Ben stood on his pedals and looked back. “They’re gone.”
“Are you all right, Wendy?” Werling asked.
“Yeah. Jeez, thanks. What is that stuff, mace?”
“Our own special blend,” Ben said, and I detected a hint of pride.
I shifted to a medium gear and said, “Man, I don’t ride the LRT bikeway much, but I’d say there’s definitely a leash law or two being overlooked.”
“Those weren’t pets,” Ben said.
“They were jackals!” Werling exclaimed.
I recalled the dogs with Tweedledee and Tweedledum, the Shriner twins—same patchy fur and hunched backs with small hindquarters. “Some of them were outside the door with Cathal.”
“We are so taking the bus home.” Werling said.
* * *
We spent the rest of the day at the central library, where we fussed around with its computers and even dug into old microfilm records. There were three recent stories about pearl thefts. They all had two things in common: the pearls were black, and they were smashed to pieces. I said, “That’s so strange,” to Ben, who worked the computer next to me.
Werling peered over the top of my machine. “You found a story about smashed pearls, too?”
The librarian glared at us.
Werling edged around the computer counter and sat at my side. After looking at what I’d found, he whispered, “Last week in St. Paul another pearl was smashed. That makes four instances.”
I said, “Sweet mother of pearl, Batman.”
Ben frowned and held up a hand for quiet. His eyes were shut and his lips twisted left and right like a teeter-totter. When I gave Werling a questioning look he put an upraised finger to his lips. “He’s thinking.”
For my money, Ben looked like a cow chewing its cud. Finally his lip action stopped.
I said, “You’re thinking the pearl poacher and the clam killer are the same dude?”
Ben and Werling both turned to me with surprised looks. Ben waggled his head. “Very good. Your alliteration aside, yes, I think it’s highly likely.”
“Did Ally find any broken pearls around the clams by the creek?” I asked.
Ben stared at me again like I’d changed color before his eyes. “Very good, Wendy. That night I was out I spent examining the spot where the mussels were—among other things. I don’t recall pearl fragments, but then, I wasn’t looking for them.”
Werling rapped Ben’s arm with his bony knuckles. “I told you. I told him,” Werling said to me. “Brains . . . and beau—”
“Give it a rest, Werly,” I said, though I was flattered, which was kind of creepy. “I’ve read enough mysteries to figure out a few things.”
“I love mysteries!” Werling exclaimed. He stiffened his upper lip and said, “You’re taking the fall, sweetheart.”
“Jimmy Cagney?” I guessed wrongly—on purpose.
“No! Humphrey Bogart.”
“That’s more hard-boiled detective fiction than mystery,” I said.
“Hercule Poirot was a detective,” Werling said.
“And he’s about as hard-boiled as a marshmallow!” I said.
Behind us, someone cleared her throat like a foghorn.
“I welcome your use of our library,” the pruney old librarian said. She stood with her hands on her thin tube hips. “But you have to lower your voices.”
I dropped my voice as low as it could go and said, “Sorry, is this better?”
Werling nearly burst trying not to laugh, but Ben said, “My apologies. My cousin there is under the impression that she’s a comedian.”
The librarian was not impressed by Ben’s excuse. I realized I’d gone too far and much as I wanted to deliver a devastating comeback, he was right. Boring, but right.
“Sorry,” I said.
* * *
Ben and I found the creek site again easily enough. Against Werling’s objections, Ben sent him back to upload what we found into HAL. The stink of the site alone still could lead us there. The clams were gone, but I supposed their juice or whatever had leaked all over and had soaked in. The bushes were trampled where Ally and Jackson had worked.
Together Ben and I slowly spiraled out, peering under leaves, on our hands and knees lifting twigs. In the background, the creek gurgled. I began to wonder if teaming up with Werling might have been a better idea. Burs stuck in my shoelaces, but I didn’t complain. Ben crawled along beside me. I asked for this.
I was glad the news stories mentioned the pearls being black, because I would have thought they’d be white. I asked Ben, “Why would anyone spend time looking for pearls only to smash them and leave them? It doesn’t make sense.”
“It does if you need to destroy them, or you’re looking for something very small but very important inside.” He stopped searching and picked up two white pieces that could have been parts of a pearl. He examined them and rested his chin on his knee in thought. “To see a world in a grain of sand, and a heaven in a wild flower; hold infinity in the palm of your hand, and eternity in an hour.”
“Right. Whatever,” I said. “Those parts of a pearl?”
Suddenly he straightened up like something bit him. He looked at the pieces, the dirt on his hands, and said, “To see the world in a grain of sand.” He laughed. “A grain of sand? What’s at the core of a pearl?”
“I don’t know. A baby oyster?” From his look, I could tell he was disappointed. “Okay, a grain of sand?”
“Maybe. Whoever was looking in the clams was looking for a specific pearl. There was something about it they didn’t find in the first four they destroyed. Cathal getting involved means it’s extraordinary, whatever it is inside the pearl.”
“Like supernatural?” I asked, but Ben didn’t have time to answer.
The bubbling creek that had murmured so steadily in the background abruptly got louder, splashing and sending spray raining down on us. Wind whipped the trees. A haze flowed out from the water and all around us.
“Ben?” I said.
“Wendy. Get ready for a strange experience.” Ben stood.
I hardly had time to get ready for a normal experience when a woman’s voice pierced the windy, splashing racket and said, “To hurt any of my creatures is to hurt all.”
As suddenly as the tempest blew in, it died away, but the haze shimmered around us. I looked at Ben and stood, too. “Did I hear a lady talking?”
Ben looked past me and bowed slightly. “Your Ladyship.”
I twisted around and saw the palest, most beautiful woman gliding through the bushes toward us. Her hair was pure white and her dress flowed over her body like sheets of water. In fact, the hem was dripping. She shimmered.
“Master Benjamin,” she said with the barest nod to Ben, and then she focused on me—not a particularly friendly look. “And you must be Wendy Adair.”
She was close now, and I could see her perfect face was ageless. It was also hard and threatening. It was all I could do to keep from running. I met her eyes and felt breathless.
“You have suffered a terrible injury, Your Ladyship,” Ben said.
His tone surprised me. It was respectful, I’d even say courteous. With a little work, I’d even go so far as to say deferential.
She gave me a final frown, as if I’d failed some test, and then looked at Ben. “Yes,” she said, “A tragedy, but for a change, not by human hand. Why do you concern yourself?”
“Not all of us mistreat our home,” Ben said. “The damage affects all. We should all work to set it right.”
Ben talked strange, like some Lord of the Rings fan. In some way I knew this was not the time to point that out to him.
The lady chuckled with no humor and it sent a shiver down my back. “Humans set it right? There is a fine thought.” It didn’t sound fine the way she said it. “But I did not come to argue. I came to warn you, Benjamin Preston. Leave this place alone. There is a battle coming. Stay clear if you value your life and the lives of your friends.”
“Battle? Can you tell us—” but Ben could not finish. The wind hit us, knocking us down, and the roar of the falls deafened us. Then it was over. The woman was gone.
“Crud in a cup. Who was that?” I asked, picking myself up.
“We call her Your Ladyship. She’s a water spirit, a naiad.”
“I don’t believe this.” However, the special effects were hard to deny.
Ben brushed leaves and dirt off his shirt and jeans. “Don’t believe?” He gave me a look of disbelief. “Trust your senses on what just happened and believe. She doesn’t show herself to many people.”