Chapter 5

 

It didn’t take long for Pete and Weasel to scarf down their bread and empty two cups of tea with honey. They didn’t ask for seconds, but eyed the loaf so much, the caretaker cut two more slices for them.

Pete didn’t remember bread being this good. It had to be all about starving first, then eating.

When they’d finished, Caretaker Willoughby Bean said, “I’ll walk you to Miss Mattie’s. Come.”

He walked slowly until they came to a road with a sign that read Stranglewood Wildes Lane, then he picked up the pace, so Pete and Weasel had to trot to keep up.

It grew darker and suddenly cold. Pete glanced up, and clouds had covered the sun. Only a minute before, the sky had been clear, not one cloud overhead. And the quiet didn’t seem right. Even their footsteps had become muffled, almost silent.

Weasel edged closer to Pete and whispered. “Too quiet. And those clouds don’t look friendly.”

The village turned out to be one twisty street with wooden shops smack up against each other, kind of huddled as though they needed to keep warm. As the three walked through, a chill wind blew into their faces. Caretaker Bean drew his jacket around him and kept his head down, not looking right or left.

There were no people on the street, only the feeling that someone was there just out of sight, watching.

Weasel poked Pete with his elbow and tipped his head toward the shops.

Shadowy figures flitted behind the windows, doors cracked open then slowly closed with small creaky sounds as they passed. The pssst, pssst, pssst of whispers came from all around them, but Pete couldn’t make out any words.

At the end of the street, Caretaker Willoughby Bean stopped and pointed down a narrow dirt path. “Miss Mattie’s cottage is at the end of this lane at the river’s edge,” he said. “I’ll be leaving you here.”

Before Pete or Weasel could say anything, the caretaker hurried away. He did look over his shoulder once, but his face was grim.

“Which part of this is scaring you the most?” Weasel asked.

Pete pointed back at the village. “Then, the Glopp part is way crazy, too. Why is someone with my mom’s family name here?” He peered in the direction the caretaker had pointed. “Then going down there. That’s freaky.” The path wound for a few feet before dipping out of sight. He turned to Weasel. “I guess it’s all scaring me.”

They took only a few steps before thick, twisty-limbed trees clustered around them, and the roots tangled together at the edge of still water ponds. While it had been dark before, now it was as if night had come.

“Let’s rethink this, okay?” Weasel backed up.

“How are we going to find that Dread Wraith guy, then? Come on, Weaze.” Pete pulled Weasel by the arm. “This isn’t as bad as the Ornofree at night with all those red-eyed alligators on our tail, right?”

Pete flashed on that night they’d tramped through the swamp just before the start of the war. Alligators, their eyes red like hundreds of tail lights, blinked out at him from the black water.

“I’ll tell you later,” Weasel said, letting Pete pull him into the darkness. “If there is a later.”

In a few feet, Pete could hardly see where he was stepping. It wasn’t natural, all this dark in the morning.

They tripped on roots and stepped into brackish water, so their feet squished inside their tennis shoes as they walked.

It seemed they’d been on the path forever, then the sound of running water became clear.

“You hear that?” Pete asked, grabbing Weasel’s arm.

“Yep. We’re at the river.”

Ahead a light flickered, and as they crept closer, Pete could tell that light came from a single small window.

“Candle,” he whispered.

“You go first. She’s your relative.” Weasel stepped off the path and waited for Pete to walk ahead.

With very light, still almost silent, steps, Pete made his way to a low door with a heavy iron latch. Overhead a stone figure, its bat-like wings spread wide, gripped the ledge with claws and scowled down at him.

“Gargoyle.” Weasel choked. “Let’s skip knocking and get out of here.”

Before they could step away, the door swung in.

“Holy beans!” Pete jumped back and sent Weasel staggering into the bushes.

“Who are you and what is your business here?” The woman blocked the doorway, her face almost as scary as the gargoyle’s overhead.

“Uh, I’m…” Pete had trouble getting words out. “Caretaker Willoughby Bean. He told us—”

“Sent you to spy on Mattie. Is that it?”

“No!” Pete said. “We need help. He said you could—”

“What kind of help?”

“We have to find Dr. Dread Wraith.”

Now her eyes closed to slits and she drew her shawl tight around her. “Why?”

Pete stammered out the story they’d told the caretaker. When the woman looked as if she was going to slam the door, he quickly said what he thought might keep her from doing that. “My aunt’s name is Lizzie Glopp.”

She gripped the door, but didn’t close it. “From the Devonshire Glopps? Two Ps?”

Pete nodded and held up two fingers. He didn’t know who the Devonshire Glopps were, but he knew about the two Ps. Aunt Lizzie made sure her last name was always spelled that way.

Mattie’s face switched from sour to worried, then she smiled and looked him up and down. “You don’t look like a Glopp. Too tall. Too skinny.”

Pete slouched a bit. “My dad. I get it from him.”

“Come to think of it, a few of the Devonshires was on the lanky side, too. They could eat all they wanted and still stayed bony.”

Pete examined his arms. They weren’t that bony, but he hooked his thumbs on the sleeves and pulled them down. And what about Aunt Lizzie. Lanky? Not even.

Mattie craned her neck to look both directions out her door before stepping down with arms outstretched. “Welcome to Stranglewood Cottage.”

Pete managed to unbury his face from Mattie’s scratchy wool shawl and escape her grip.

“Come along. Come along. We must talk.” Mattie glanced at Weasel. “And you are?”

“Weasel.”

Her eyes opened wide as if she’d just seen the two of them. “Ah, yes. Now I remember. The doctor said a pair of you might find your way here.”

“He did?” Now it was Pete’s eyes that went round.

“Oh dear.” Mattie put her hands to her cheeks the way Aunt Lizzie did when something worried her. “We have much to do and little time to do it. The new moon rises in only six days. After that …” She shook her head. “Oh dear. Oh dear.” With that she entered the cottage and left them to follow her.

Pete turned to Weasel. “What’s with the six days? You said it was like twenty-nine days.”

“Why are you asking me? You’re the wizard.”

“Sometimes you … Never mind.” Pete threw up his hands and stomped through the open door.

Inside, the cottage glowed from coals in an open fireplace. The candle they’d seen on their way here sat on the windowsill, flickering shadows on the stone walls. A table cluttered with thick books, an ink bottle and a quill pen sat near the fire.

“First, let us stop going around the truth, shall we?” Mattie said. “We Glopps have no time for that sort of slip-sliding, jibber-jabber.”

Mattie was one of his relatives all right. She had the same special way of using words Aunt Lizzie had. Ten to one Mattie was a witch, too, just like all the people in his family seemed to be.

Weasel had to be thinking the same thing because he was twirling his cowlick, the way he always did when he was nervous-scared. Pete shook his head; now even he was doing it, thinking words in that weird way.

“Sit.” She pulled out a chair from the table, then folded her hands in front of her. When Pete and Weasel were settled, she said, “You lads have broken the Timelock and that is serious-bad business for all of us.”

“Huh?” Pete gasped. Wow, she even knew about the Timelock?

Weasel held up his hand the way you’re supposed to when you ask something in class.

“Yes?” Mattie said.

“I didn’t break it. I just sort of got sucked into it by accident.” Weasel turned a pair of hard eyes on Pete.

“I see. But never mind that now. What to do is the question.” She placed her palms on the table and closed her eyes.

The room had been warm, but now it became frosty. Pete wrapped his arms around himself.

Mattie’s lips moved, but she only made whispery noises and none of them sounded like words. The candle flamed, and there was a knock at the door. “Well done,” Mattie said as she went to open the door.

“They’re here?” someone asked.

“They are.” Mattie let in one woman, then a second, then a third. All wore the same scratchy wool shawls and all looked as if they belonged in the Glopp family. If they’d been in yellow bathrobes, they’d be dead ringers for his aunt. Their round faces were so much like Aunt Lizzie’s that Pete felt a tug in his stomach. He missed her. He missed not being home.

“Eugenia, Aurelia, Constance meet your cousin, Peter, and his friend Weasel.”

The three women pressed around Pete.

“Tell us about where you’re from,” Aurelia said. “I always love Traveler stories.”

Eugenia fingered Pete’s sweatshirt. “Odd material. What is it?”

“Stop that Eugenia,” Constance said, swatting Eugenia’s hand away.

“All of you stop,” Mattie snapped. “Come and sit and help me figure out what to do. Peter must see to it that the Timelock is closed properly before the new moon. To do that he must consult with Dread.” All of his cousins’ gazes landed on his face and stayed there. Trapped by their stares, Pete froze where he sat.

Mattie broke the tension. “Peter’s the only one who knows the other half of the spell.”

“The other half of what spell?” Pete asked.

She cocked her head. “Why, the Locking Spell, of course.”

“But I don’t know anything about that!”

“You must. You’re the one who broke the Lock. You’re the only one that holds half the spell to seal it again. The doctor has the other half. It’s a safety precaution.” She shook her head. “I’ve told the Council we need the same safety precaution for the Unlocking Spell, but would they listen? Now see what has happened.”

Pete didn’t know about the other half of any spell, but he knew he had to find out about it and fast. “What happens if we can’t do it in time?”

Mattie pressed her lips together and frowned. “You’ll likely be here permanent-forever. And no telling how many Travelers will be trapped where they shouldn’t be.”

His face blank, Weasel repeated, “Permanent-forever.”