Chapter Nine

"What in the world's gotten into Bathilda?" Bev asked herself as she and Biscuit made their way back to the inn, Gus plodding behind. She set him up in the barn in the stall next to Sin's, which was already empty. Her wagon was gone, too. Gus seemed a bit perturbed from all the excitement of the day, but happily took a carrot and some oats from Bev before settling down.

When Bev walked into the kitchen, the pre-ordered pork was already waiting, along with a note from Ida with an explanation. Bev got to work immediately, as pork shoulder was a cut that needed a lot of low and slow cooking. But with the right sort of spices, and a little vinegar, she could make it fall-off-the-bone tender in the time left until dinner.

She worked quickly, stoking the oven so it would be a little warmer and slicing all the excess fat off the meat. It was beautifully marbled, of course, and she placed it in her large roasting pan with an assortment of herbs—including her rosemary.

"That's right. They wanted apples," Bev muttered to herself. She wasn't sure what she had down in the root cellar, other than a few crates of potatoes and other vegetables, but she ventured into the dark, damp space. She pulled out some of the crates, finding potatoes, yams, potatoes, parsnips, potatoes, turnips, and more potatoes. Then, in a back corner in a small bag, four apples.

"Perfect."

She set one aside in the empty barn for when Sin returned from her trip to Middleburg. The old mule was fed a healthy diet of carrots, so an apple was a rare treat.

Bev quartered the remaining three apples and tossed them into the roasting pan then put the top on and hoisted the whole thing into the oven. It was two in the afternoon now; she'd check it around four to make sure it was falling apart appropriately. Not that the grannies would mind. Bev had a feeling she could serve the meat raw, and they'd gobble it up.

She worked on the rest of dinner, thinking about her curious guests. For having business in town, they certainly didn't mind packing up and heading to Middleburg with Earl. Were they waiting for someone? That seemed the most likely, as they didn't seem to care what they filled their days with, only that they were full.

But who could they be waiting for?

"Come now, Bev, they aren't hurting anyone. Quite the opposite." Bev glanced at Biscuit, who was asleep in front of the hearth.

The laelaps seemed to sense he was being watched and lifted his head. He was still dusty from Bathilda's farm, which got Bev thinking again about the farmer's odd behavior. Surely, Bathilda was just having a hard day. Perhaps her hip was bothering her or something.

And perhaps the pen she'd had Earl build for her was for cows. Maybe she was getting into the business.

Bev paused, glancing at the kitchen door. There was one easy way to find out.

She left the meat cooking in the oven and crossed the street to the Witzels' butchery, but she stopped before she got there. Bardoff and his gaggle of students were standing in the middle of the street, watching something in the air.

"What in the…?" It seemed to be a lantern floating in the sky—and for once, the children actually looked interested.

"You see, children, when the air inside the lantern gets hot, it sends the whole lantern up into the air," Bardoff explained, nodding to Bev. "Much like we learned with Bev, fire and heat can do many different things."

"We also learned that with Earl's barn," came the snide remark from Grant.

"Yes, that too," Bardoff said, with a roll of his eyes. "Why don't you try your lanterns and see what you get?"

The kids broke off into small groups—Bev's "miscreants" in their own trio—and set to building a lantern like the one currently floating above their heads.

"Certainly seem to have their attention today," Bev said. "But I wonder what benefit knowing how to make a lantern fly has on their adult lives?"

"Pssh. You sound like Etheldra," Bardoff scoffed. "The point of education is to broaden minds. Sometimes you have to take a roundabout way of getting there. If it means teaching them how to set things on fire to teach them about the difference in air pressure, so be it."

"You could, of course, step into the butchery and teach them the parts of a cow," Ida drawled, coming to stand next to Bev. "Flying lanterns, Bardoff? Really?"

The teacher didn't answer because young Tallulah Punter had set her whole lantern on fire.

"He certainly has funny ideas," Ida said.

"He's not the only one," Bev said. "Thanks for the meat, by the way. How much do I owe you?"

"Not a silver. The grannies paid double what it was worth." Ida snorted. "No clue where they got all their gold, but they sure have it."

"Indeed, they do," Bev said, filing that tidbit away for later. "Listen, I had somewhat of a random question for you. Have you heard of Bathilda Wormwood getting cows or goats or any kind of livestock?"

"Bathilda? Old Bathilda from out west?" Ida shook her head. "She just grows produce, doesn't she?"

"Thought she did, but Earl built her a fence recently." Bev glanced around at the kids, once again noticing Valta was missing. "Then her neighbor's barn collapsed."

"Who? Herman?"

"Alice," Bev said. "The grannies are already on it. Might have it back up this evening."

"Oh, Bev. You can't suspect someone based on a fence." Ida chuckled.

"It's not the fence, but that she nearly took Biscuit and me out with a crossbow this afternoon," Bev said. "Alice says she's been very unfriendly lately, too. Almost like she's hiding something. Just trying to rule out the obvious answers."

Ida clicked her tongue. "Looks like we've got a full-fledged mystery on our hands, don't we?" She grinned as she moved closer to Bev. "Are you gonna go sleuthing? Sneak onto her property and see what she's hiding?"

"Well, I was hoping to avoid that by you telling me she was selling you beef," Bev said.

"Sorry, friend. Haven't seen Bathilda in weeks." Ida shrugged. "Whatever she's got in those pens, she isn't selling for meat. If she's even selling them at all."

~

The usual suspects arrived for dinner, including Earl and the grannies. Earl had been flabbergasted when Janet paid for the suite of lumber in Middleburg that had been loaded onto Bev's wagon, and, although he'd said it wasn't necessary, the granny had insisted upon it. Yet again, the question of who these strange women were and how they came into all their gold bounced around in Bev's head, but for now, she was just grateful they were helping get everyone back on their feet.

Once everyone was gone or upstairs for the night after dinner, Bev went to the kitchen to wash dishes and think. Proximity to Alice's barn didn't make someone guilty, and neither did being rude. Bathilda could've just woken up on the wrong side of the bed or had a thing against dogs.

Bev glanced at Biscuit, who was in a dead sleep next to the dying embers of the fire. He was interested in something in her yard. She hadn't seen him so animated since he'd found a magical bauble in a pie during the Harvest Festival.

But just because something's magical doesn't mean it's destroying workshops and barns.

Ida was magical, and all she did was chop up meat and spin wild conspiracy theories.

Still, Bev couldn't get the thought out of her head, even as she finished tidying up the kitchen and rearranging the chairs. She ascended the stairs to her room, Biscuit sleepily trotting at her heels, but after she blew out the candle, she lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

"Now, Bev," she said to herself, "don't you be getting any wild hairs. We don't need to be trespassing again."

Biscuit lifted his head in the dark, his ears twitching in the moonlight.

"There's nothing on Bathilda's land that concerns us," Bev said. "Besides that, Bathilda's whatever-she-might-have wasn't anywhere near Earl's shop."

Biscuit let out a low sniff.

"Unless whatever Bathilda's got has made her a target, and someone is trying to threaten her."

Another sniff.

"That could explain the reason for her rudeness," Bev reasoned. "She could've thought we were whoever's threatening her."

A ruff.

"But we really can't be just…gallivanting around at night," Bev said, lifting her head. "I mean, we have the inn, we need to sleep. Besides that, it's just not proper, you know."

Sniff.

"Well, that was different," Bev said. "There were sinkholes. One right in front of the inn. Nobody was doing anything about it."

Ruff.

"Bathilda should've just come out with it if she wanted help. She probably doesn't."

Biscuit stood and hopped off the bed, his soft feet padding toward the door.

Bev sighed. "Well, I suppose since you're up…we might as well take a little stroll, eh? Now where did I put that glowing stick…"

~

Bev's glowing stick—a knotty piece of lumber with mushrooms growing on it that illuminated in the dark—was right where she'd left it in the shed, and before she knew it, she and Biscuit were walking down the silent road toward Bathilda's house.

"Just out for a stroll," Bev muttered to herself, looking around for anyone who might be out. "Just a little walk down the street."

The laelaps needed no light, his nose pressed to the ground as he moved quickly along the dirt road. Bev repeated the lie to herself as she drew closer to Bathilda's farmlands. She left the glowing stick along the fence line, hoping the clouds would stay away from the moon to illuminate her way. The white tip of Biscuit's tail caught the scant light, and she was able to follow the laelaps across the barren gardens.

Biscuit ducked under a fence, and Bev recognized Earl's handiwork. This must've been the fence he'd constructed for her. Up ahead, Biscuit let out a low ruff, and Bev easily hopped over the fence. Behind her was tall, hardy grass that had survived the winter, but beyond the fence, it seemed to be all gone. Or at least, very low—like it had recently been cut.

"Or eaten," she muttered. "Biscuit? Are you all right?"

She might've been hasty coming out here. There was no telling what Bathilda might be herding in this arena. Sure, it might've been the run-of-the-mill cows or sheep, but Rosie Kelooke had demonic chickens that had left scars on Bev's shins the last time she'd tangled with them.

"Biscuit?" she whispered into the darkness, worrying when she didn't hear the telltale ruff from the laelaps. "Biscuit? Come back here." She let out a low whistle. "Biscuit? Biscuit?"

She nearly jumped out of her skin when a loud noise echoed through the darkness. She put her hand over her beating heart, taking a shaky breath and listening.

"Baaaaaaa."

"Ruff."

"Goodness," she whispered, shaking herself. "Biscuit, where are you?"

She followed the sound of his low barking until she found him standing in front of…the strangest-looking sheep she'd ever seen in her life. No, it wasn't a sheep—it just had the fluffy wool of a sheep. It had a long, naked black neck, a pointed snout, and beady eyes like a sheep. Four bare legs with hooves like a sheep. But the wool was…

"Purple?" Bev breathed. "Are these…?"

Tanddaes. The name came to her like a distant memory, something her dear friend Merv had told her about. He'd used their wool to make a blanket he'd entered in the Harvest Festival competition. She'd thought he'd dyed it to get that robust color, but clearly, it just came off the creature that way. Even in the dark, it was vibrant and deep.

"Why in the world would Bathilda be testy about breeding these?" Bev wondered until Biscuit began sniffing the wool and salivating—like he was eager to take a piece of it for himself.

"Keep your chompers off," Bev said, using a tone that meant business.

Biscuit retreated, but only a little.

These creatures were magical. That, perhaps more than their unique coat, was the reason for the secrecy. The queen had funny ideas about magic and seemed to want any kind she didn't approve of eradicated from the earth. Where these creatures landed, she didn't know, but she had a hunch it was on the side of "not approved."

"I wonder what—"

Voices echoed from up ahead, and a small pinprick of light seemed to be drawing closer. Bev grabbed Biscuit by the midsection and pulled him behind one of the large creatures—as there was nowhere else to hide. She held her breath, peering over the puffy purple wool as Bathilda came hobbling up with a tall, lanky person beside her.

"Damn trouble these things are. Eat everything green they can get their teeth onto," she said. "Never again will I agree to this."

"They're quite healthy." The man had a soft, unctuous voice, like he was used to swindling people. "How many do you have?"

"Twenty-five," she said. "Maybe more. Hard to tell with their thick wool which ones may be pregnant and which are just in need of a haircut."

"Mm." The man approached the closest one and ran his fingers along the wool. "Very nice. This will fetch a great price down in Lower Pigsend."

"I should say so!" She crossed her arms over her chest. "Now when can you take them off my hands? Too many of the queen's soldiers are floating around for me to feel comfortable holding onto them for much longer."

"I'll confer with my boss. How does a thousand gold coins sound?"

Bev had to cover her mouth to keep the gasp of surprise from coming out. A thousand gold coins? For twenty-five purple sheep? They must be quite rare.

Based on the way Bathilda was chewing her cheek, the price must've been less than she'd anticipated. "I'll take it, but only if you get them off my land within the next week. Already caused enough problems with my neighbors."

Bev lifted her head. Were these creatures causing all the mayhem? She hadn't a clue what tanddaes did or if they could set a workshop on fire, but it was certainly close enough to Alice's barn to have caused that destruction. Still, before she confronted Bathilda, she needed more information.

And for that, she'd have to visit an old friend.