Chapter 11

please, mr. postman

In the arresting heat of a late morning in July, a raven landed on the sill of an open window and peered into a dim room filled with books. Shelves crammed full of books lined most of one wall, and stacks of even more books were piled neatly here and there. Her beady black eyes fell on a tall figure sitting unusually still at his desk, which was also decorated with an excess of books. A warm breeze toyed with a page of the hefty volume in front of him, and the fountain pen in his hand had leaked an impressive black ink spot onto the page, marking the exact place where he’d drifted off. A few dozen handwritten sheets of notes had scattered around the floor as well, flying off a nearby stack of paper every time the wind managed to kick up. Aside from the rustling of paper, the only other sound in the room came from a clock steadily ticking in the background like a faithful metronome. The bird’s scavenging eyes immediately honed in on a plate near the corner of the desk. Upon that plate sat a piece of generously buttered toast topped with apricot preserves. Ravens being the clever birds they are, this one deduced that this particular piece of toast had been abandoned, and three soft beats of her black wings brought her beside it. The clock would have drowned out the pecking of her beak against the porcelain if she weren’t so greedy, but Cazadora loved food above all else, and that included Finn.

He woke up in a daze to find her cramming the last bit of crust down her gullet before retreating back to the windowsill and flying away. When he glanced down at his book, he groaned as he saw the black stain and forgot all about his stolen toast. He hastily pressed a bit of blotter against the ink, but it had seeped through a number of pages in bold defiance. He cursed himself for falling asleep with a pen in his hand, but what was done was done. It had been going like this all day, nodding off, losing his place in the book, waking up, finding his place, scribbling a few notes, and nodding off again. Unwilling to spend one more moment at the whim of the wind and leaky fountain pens, he tried to decide if he ought to take a nap or go down to the kitchen and make some coffee instead. A knock at his bedroom door made the decision for him.

His brother-in-law pushed the door open, and the draft it created launched a round of papers into the air like a squadron of small flying carpets. Sighing hopelessly, Finn placed the cap on his pen and set it inside the stained book. Then he hoisted himself from his chair and began to gather the pages one by one from the floor, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

“Another book arrived for you today, but I’ll be damned if you spend the entire summer cooped up indoors reading it. You’ve got all of winter for that,” said Asbjorn as he stepped into the room, shaking his blonde curls in disapproval. In his hand he waved a parcel wrapped in brown paper and twine.

“I’ve spent plenty of time outside,” Finn muttered, reaching down to pick up two more stray papers. “I wouldn’t be this suntanned otherwise.”

“You know what I mean,” Asbjorn said as he casually leaned down to gather a few papers. “Other than exercising the horses, you’ve hardly left your room in the fortnight since coming back from Paris pumped full of poppy juice. You’ll never get through the withdrawal process if you keep sulking up here in your ivory tower.”

“The morphine is completely out of my system,” Finn retorted in a rich, deep, and somewhat sharp voice. “And I believe you’ve mistaken the word sulking for studying.”

“Oh? Then I do beg your pardon. Are you finally making some progress on those stones?” Asbjorn asked. He added the papers he’d gathered to the stack on Finn’s desk.

Finn slipped on his poker face like a mask as he sifted through his mind, trying to recall what stones Asbjorn was referring to. Ah yes, it was that trunk hidden under his bed. Inside it were sections of a broken doorway that had been created by incredibly strong black magic, as well as gold, rubies, and sapphires. Unlike most man-made thresholds that led from one room to another, this one had led from one world to another. To be honest, Finn hadn’t given them much thought or attention since bringing them home to study months ago. It seemed other matters kept seeping into his mind, distracting him to no end.

“I’m not having much luck,” he finally said, believing it was an honest enough answer. Maybe he would have had more luck if he actually applied himself, but Asbjorn didn’t need to know that.

“Well then, what pray tell have you been doing with all of your free time, since you aren’t teaching any classes this term?”

“I’m translating ancient contractual language and trying to determine whether or not the same traditional rights and responsibilities are still applicable regarding—”

“Careful there,” Asbjorn interrupted as the wind kicked up again, threatening to send the papers airborne. He quickly set the brown paper package on top of the loose papers to keep them in place. “You’re about to lose track of all your work again.”

“No I’m not. I’ve put a permanent place marker through the entire section,” Finn grimaced, settling his brown eyes on the black ink stain inside his big book. He tucked a fresh piece of blotter between the marred pages and closed it, altogether bothered by the inconvenience.

“That’s what’s kept you occupied day in and day out? Translating ancient legal jargon? It never ceases to amaze me, some of the things which you consider enjoyable,” said Asbjorn, glancing down at Finn’s work with a total lack of interest. He hoped Finn wouldn’t ask him to read it, because he doubted he’d be able to get through one page of such a dry subject. His idea of contractual language was a solid handshake over a glass of fairy brandy. He stroked his well-groomed blonde beard thoughtfully before turning his eyes back to his wife’s brother. “Say, Finny…I didn’t come in here only to bring you that book. I need to discuss another area of study with you.”

“Really?” Finn asked, perking up with genuine interest as he returned to his chair. “What area might that be?”

“Mine. Psychology,” Asbjorn replied in a kind, but very firm tone. “The morphine may have left your body as you claim, but it’s still got a grip of your mind. Anthea can hear you poking around the house at all hours of the night due to your insomnia, and with her being pregnant, she needs her sleep. I need her to get some sleep. Aside from that, you’ve scarcely interacted with anything aside from horses and books since you returned. Your niece and nephew miss their uncle. We all miss you, Finn. Please stop carrying on like a heartbroken schoolboy, or you’ll never get over that contemptible temptress. My gods, I despise that bird, though I particularly despise what she does to you.”

“What bird are you referring to?” Finn asked cautiously, taking the parcel off the stack of papers and straightening them even though they were already quite tidy. “Surely you aren’t speaking about Hilda in such a manner.”

“Hilda? Of course not! I’m talking about Mistress Morphine, you poor old sod—who else gets under your skin like she does?” Asbjorn replied with a roll of his eyes. “I know the circumstances were different this time around, but if you’re going to be rid of that lass once and for all, you need to spend less time in the stable and start getting out and about. Speaking of which, I ran into Pavelina and Milena this morning when I was down at the market. They were asking after you.”

“Are you suggesting that I exchange one temptation for another?”

“No,” said Asbjorn. His blue eyes were twinkling brightly and he couldn’t hide his impish Sagittarian grin. “I’m suggesting you exchange one temptation for two.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Finn proclaimed, unable to reign in the smile his brother-in-law had garnered. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re attempting to live vicariously through me.”

“So what if I am?” Asbjorn said with a shameless shrug. “If I were an unattached fellow like yourself, I wouldn’t waste any time calling on those two. They have such perfectly shaped…” he trailed off and Finn raised a curious eyebrow. “Characters,” he finished. “Perfectly shaped characters. Gods, what a divine distraction the two of them would be. I’ve never known sisters that were so willing to share everything.”

“Nor I,” Finn said loftily as he folded his strong arms, “but they’re my brother’s playthings. I’ve never taken any of his hand-me-downs before and I don’t intend to begin now.”

“Surely there’s a stone he left unturned somewhere in the village. What about the lass that runs the cider mill?”

Finn shook his head.

“What about the tailor’s eldest daughter?”

Again, Finn shook his head.

“What about the younger one?”

Finn shook his head a third time.

“Believe me; there’s no suitable territory left to discover that he hasn’t thoroughly explored already.”

“Then what you need is a change of scenery,” Asbjorn proposed. “I’m leaving for Sofia first thing tomorrow to check my electric mailbox. Why don’t you join me and do a little bird-watching whilst I catch up on correspondence?”

“But that’s nearly a week’s worth of travel,” Finn pointed out, less than enthusiastic about escaping his beloved ivory tower. “I think I’ll be of more use here.”

“Aside from keeping the horses’ water trough full, you haven’t been of use to anyone lately,” Asbjorn replied. “You’d be more useful if you took a break from researching ancient contracts and kept me company along the way.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I respectfully decline,” said Finn. He removed the twine and brown paper from his newest book and began to flip through the pages, all the while waiting politely for Asbjorn to leave him in peace. But Asbjorn simply stood there, his grin returning full force. He said nothing as Finn lifted his head inquisitively, but the expression on his face indicated that his mind was full of thoughts. After an awkward moment of silence, Finn sighed impatiently.

“Well? What is it?”

“It’s just…I really thought you’d be more enthusiastic about going to Sofia. Don’t you want to check your electric mailbox as well?” Asbjorn asked with twinkling eyes. “I’ll be damned if a songbird from America hasn’t written you a letter by now. I thought the two of you had quite a bit to talk about when you last saw one another.”

Finn pursed his lips and stared at the books and the tidy stack of papers sitting in front of him. There was indeed a lot to talk about; in fact, there was so much that it could fill an entire series of novels.

He was packed in less than an hour.