Chapter Six

Bev had a few overnight guests, but once they were gone—and their sheets washed and hung on the line—she put Biscuit in charge of the inn and walked across the street to the bakery. Lillie was working on a three-tiered cake for Kaiser Tuckey, a wealthy businessman who owned a manor nearby, and nodded to an already-packed basket of cookies sitting on the counter.

"Tell Merv I'll be by next week," she said. "And please do pass on any requests for flavors."

"I will," Bev said. "Did you have those letters to deliver to Lower Pigsend?"

"Yes, they're already tucked away in the basket," Lillie said.

"And the letter for Silverkeep?" Allen pressed, giving her a sideways look. "Is that going in the post today?"

"Not yet." Lillie's face reddened. "I'm not ready. So don't tell Merv about my plans yet, please. We've only reconnected. It might break his heart."

The basket safely on her arm, Bev walked out of town toward Merv's tunnel. The path led her by Trent's land, and her gaze lingered on the pumpkins, still pristine and perfect, and his house in the distance. From here, she wouldn't be able to tell if anything was amiss anyway, but she still kept a wary eye as she walked past.

Far beyond Trent's house was the entrance to Merv's tunnel. After almost a year of visits, Bev had finally gotten smart enough to pluck some of the iridescent mushrooms off the tunnel and put them on a second glowing stick she kept at its entrance to light her way, so she wouldn't have to carry her own stick back and forth. She lifted it over her head to illuminate the roots and large rocks that littered the path.

Before too long, Merv's house appeared, complete with an orange door set into mud walls and green shutters. Bev stuck the glowing stick into the nearby wall and rapped on the door.

A moment later, it opened, and Merv, a six-foot moleman covered head-to-toe in black fur, with long claws he used for knitting and a soft pink nose, beamed at her. He ushered her inside quickly, especially when he saw she came bearing cookies.

"Oh, are those from Lillie? She shouldn't have. I mean, she should, because I will eat them, but goodness, what a treat for me!" He picked at the cookies gleefully as Bev settled on the couch. "I can only assume you're here because there's another magical mystery afoot?"

Bev nodded. "I do hope one day I can just come to visit. But things get busy at the inn, and as soon as I think it might be time to pay you another visit, something else happens."

"But what would we talk about then?" Merv chuckled. "Before we get into it, I do want to tell you how lovely it was to see Lillie. The sun and weather are agreeing with her nicely, it seems. And that young Allen is doing a roaring business, I understand."

Bev nodded. "I was skeptical at first, but I really have come to love having her across the street. She's been a wonderful addition to the town. And with Allen's magic, I don't know how he could've managed without her."

Merv beamed. "All's well that ends well in my book." He picked up a ball of yarn and a half-finished blanket. "Now. What sort of calamity has befallen Pigsend today?"

Bev told him briefly about Trent's condition, and he tutted sadly.

"Goodness. Well, I'm sure Percival will be along in a moment. He does so enjoy your chats." He nodded to the door to Lower Pigsend, which Bev hadn't been through in months.

"I hardly believe that," Bev said. "Every time I'm here, I'm asking him for something, it seems."

"But you forget, Bev, it's because of the amulet you gave him that Percival is still strong and able to do what he needs to for Lower Pigsend," Merv said.

The amulet. Bev's thoughts turned back to Gore, and Merv knew her too well to let that slide.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I fear things are coming to Pigsend," Bev said. "And somehow I'm the reason."

"Come now, you're being paranoid," Merv said.

But Bev told him about her conversations with Andres, and more recently, Gore Dewey, the blacksmith, and how it seemed they knew more about her past but didn't want to tell her yet.

"That's awfully rude of them," Merv said. "Why not come out and say it? Why all the secrecy?"

"That seems to be the way Andres operates." Bev rubbed her chin. "There's something else, too, something Gore said that's been weighing on my mind. He said that everything that's happened in town is connected—starting with the sinkholes."

"Everything?" Merv tilted his head. "I mean, not everything."

"I can see some of it," Bev said. "Claude or Renault or whatever his name was came to the Harvest Festival looking for a powerful person. But the Witzels, their blackmailer didn't have anything to do with anything. And PJ's transformation didn't, either—"

"Hm." Merv clicked his claws together.

"What?" Bev said.

"I've wondered what caused that immense amount of snowfall this past winter. Coupled with the insanity at the summer solstice—"

"That was caused by a pair of herbologists," Bev said. "They'd planted flowers, remember? Plus the full moon solstice. None of that seems related to the queen or the war or any of it."

"Yes, but…" Merv sighed. "I wonder if the magical river disruption started a catalyst. Perhaps the magic coming and going so quickly triggered a latent power in young PJ. And perhaps caused the excess snow." He shrugged. "I daresay your trips to Lower Pigsend to help me out of my mess weren't connected—unless you want to connect it all to one person."

"Me?" Bev said.

"The queen," he replied with a smile. "And her archaic laws about magic. If that wasn't around, the people of Lower Pigsend would be back in their homes, enjoying their existence. Young PJ, too, would be allowed to transform in peace—though nobody ever really wants a dragon shifter around, you know. Vellora wouldn't have had a registrar, the herbologists wouldn't have had to go to great lengths to hide their flowers, and Gore wouldn't have been so keen on making sure Freddie was the mayor of Pigsend."

That was certainly true. "For the longest time, the queen's edicts seemed so far removed from us," Bev said quietly. "Pigsend was quiet. Everyone got along. But in the past year, it seems Queen's Capital is creeping closer and closer. And things that should stay far away are ending up on my doorstep." She snapped her fingers. "The queen had nothing to do with Vicky's wedding being cursed."

"Okay, you've got a point there," Merv said with a hearty laugh.

"But everything else…" Bev sighed. "The amulet was found in my garden. I'm the one with visions. Would it be such a stretch to think that I'm the one they're looking for?"

Merv surveyed her. "Do you want to be the one they're looking for?"

"Of course not," Bev said. "But knowing what's coming is better than being blindsided. Until Andres comes back, I'm not sure I'm going to be able to do much more than speculate. And hope I can figure out what happened to Trent, and that it's not related."

"It's also entirely possible there's a reasonable explanation that's much closer to home," Merv said. "Does Trent have an enemy?"

Bev nodded. "He's a farmer, like Trent. They've had a rivalry over the Harvest Festival for ages. Came to blows last year, but…" She chewed her lip. "I don't see how he'd have that kind of magic."

"Then perhaps it's those Middleburg yahoos," Merv said. "Weren't they causing trouble during the last festival?"

That, at least, seemed more plausible, especially as the mayor of Middleburg had intimated she wasn't finished trying to move the Pigsend event to her town. "I suppose I need to figure out what happened to him, you know?"

"I think—"

Further conversation was halted when Percival appeared with a pop. He wore his usual purple robes and a warm smile. "Bev, dear! What can I do for you today?" He took a seat across from Merv. "Oh, goodness, are these cookies from Lillie?"

He snatched one and gobbled it with as much fervor as Merv had.

"Yes, I hear she came by," Bev said then decided to save that conversation for later. "We've got another incident in Pigsend. Trent Scrawl, a farmer who lives near here, was found…well, not dead, but someone put him in a magical coma."

"That's horrible," Percival said, taking another cookie with a tempered smile. "But goodness, these are delectable."

"I was hoping you could tell me what sort of curse or potion could cause a coma like that," Bev said. "Or if you know of a way we could wake him up."

"Unfortunately, those kinds of sleeps can be caused by all manner of things," Percival said. "And their cures are as varied. Did your friend have anything on him when you found him?"

Bev shook her head. "Not that I saw, but I can go back and take a closer look around his home."

"Here." Percival brandished his wand and waved it in the air. A vial with purple liquid appeared. "This is a simple potion to detect bad magic. Pour a drop on anything and everything that looks out of place—including any food that might've had poison in it. Once you've got it, bring it back here, and I'll see what I can deduce about it." He paused. "But take care you don't touch it yourself."

Bev took the vial, relief welling in her chest. "You're such a helpful friend, Percival. Thank you so much. How can I repay you for this?"

He beamed as his gaze drifted down to the basket. "More of those would be excellent. And—oh, what are these?" Percival removed the stack of letters, eyeing them. "Right. Lillie had asked me to ensure these got to their recipients." He tucked them away inside his long sleeve. "There's still a lot of anger toward her in Lower Pigsend, so I can't say how these will be received."

Bev nodded. "Also, if you wouldn't mind, Bernard—Gerry's brother—says he might've come up with a cure for Gerry's affliction. I'm not sure Gerry would even want such a thing, and Bernard isn't sure it would work, but I figured I would send the message."

"Consider it delivered." Percival sighed. "I have to say, Gerry's not… Well, it's a shame we ended up with him in our midst."

Bev smiled. "Perhaps if he ends up unfeathered, you could let him leave? He's not in danger of running afoul of Her Majesty's people without the beak, I don't believe."

"Perhaps so."

~

Bev thanked Percival again, promising to return with more of Lillie's goodies when she found whatever had caused Trent's coma, and left, carrying the vial gently in her hands. It was early yet, and she had things to do at the inn, but she wanted to visit Trent's house before too much time passed. The sooner they could figure out what had caused the coma, the sooner Percival could wake him up and Trent could tell them who'd given him the spoiled goods.

Thankfully, Trent's house was on the way. She didn't bother knocking and let herself in. Once again, she was met with an empty front room. First, she searched for Trent's Harvest Festival paperwork. She found it, already filled out and ready to go, and tucked it in her pocket.

"Well, that'll make Ida happy," Bev said to herself. But if Trent didn't wake up in time for the festival, the completed paperwork would be a moot point.

Then, she searched every surface for signs of food or drink. Trent was fastidious, and his dated, but nicely decorated house was impeccably clean. Still, Bev took a slow walk around the living room and the tiny kitchenette off the main room.

There was a small loaf of bread wrapped in a tea towel on the table. Bev uncorked the vial and was careful to allow only a single drop to fall onto the loaf. Nothing happened.

"Bread wouldn't betray like that," Bev muttered, corking the vial again.

She opened cabinets and drawers until she found a couple of scraps of dried meat (nothing), a trio of apples (nothing), and a small scrap of hard cheese (nothing). Deciding the kitchen was a dead end, she instead checked the backyard for a root cellar, finding one off to the side. It seemed well-stocked for the upcoming winter, and Bev tested potato, carrot, and apple, but came up empty.

"You know, he could've just had one slice of something," Bev muttered to herself. "And all evidence of it would be currently in his stomach."

She stood at the entrance to the root cellar and spied the pumpkin patch. If someone was out to sabotage him at the Harvest Festival, maybe they'd laid the curse on the pumpkins he so carefully tended. Bev approached the patch with trepidation then stopped.

They were wet.

She glanced at the clear sky above. Not a single rain cloud in sight.

"Hm."

Bev dug her toe around in the dirt until she found the evidence of Trent's watering system. It wasn't illegal per se but when the creek had been low last year, the additional siphoning of water for his pumpkins hadn't helped things. In fact, it had caused miller Sonny Gray to be unable to mill his wheat, as there wasn't enough creek to push his mill wheel.

Following that train of thought, Bev crossed the patch toward Pigsend Creek—just to check things out. She found it running high and well, as it had all summer long. They'd had plenty of rain over the summer, and Trent's irrigation didn't seem to be hurting anything.

Turning on her heel, she walked back to the patch, uncorking the vials and dabbing potion on every one that looked big enough to enter the festival—and each one showed zero reaction.

"Not the pumpkins."

But the bigger question now was who'd watered them? And why?

Bev squinted across the landscape. From here, she could barely make out Eldred Nest's property to the north and Dane Sterling's to the south. Could one of them have taken pity on their neighbor and ensured his prized pumpkins were well-fed?

A crash echoed from Trent's house behind her. Bev spun on her heel and sprinted toward the house, vial in hand. She dashed through the back door and listened.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" she called.

Silence answered.

Narrowing her gaze, she picked up the fire poker next to the hearth and held it aloft. "Hello? It's Bev, from the Weary Dragon. I'm here…erm…" Why was she there? "Helping Rustin with his investigation. Is someone there?"

This time, a figure burst out from behind Trent's couch, shoved Bev as it passed, and sprinted out the back door. Bev managed to save the vial before it shattered (though she had a feeling Percival might've added some protections to it, as it kept refilling itself), gathered herself, and followed.

"Wait!" she cried.

The figure, who wore a cloak, was ten paces ahead, but Bev was a bit faster. As soon as she could reach, she grabbed the edge of the cloak and pulled. It slipped off the figure, who spun around, red-faced and furious.

No, not furious.

Scared. And crying.

"H-Herman?" Bev blinked.