Rory sat with his mum in their small kitchen. The smell of oxtail and cabbage soup filled the room. It wasn’t one of Rory’s favorite meals, but it was easy to prepare and the ingredients didn’t cost a lot. They still needed to stretch their money as far as they could. Yesterday’s revelations weighed heavily on his mind.
Rory’s mum placed a hot bowl in front of him.
“Thanks, Mum,” he said glumly.
She sat down at the table, facing him.
“What is it?” she asked, perceptive as always.
Rory stirred his soup but didn’t bring the spoon to his mouth.
“Mum, you’ve been in Gloom a long time, right?”
Hilda cocked her head. Her long hair was braided today, a style Rory thought made her look like a kid. She wasn’t that old, she always told him. “Oh,” she said, as if taken by surprise. “I’ve been in Gloom all my life, Rory. Only place I’ve ever known. You knew that, didn’t you?”
Rory looked into his soup as if he could find an answer there. “Yeah. I guess so.” He paused. “But what about Foxglove Manor? How long has it been here?”
Hilda flushed at the mention of the manor.
“What they did to you is a crime, Rory. I was reconsidering calling on the shirrifs.”
Rory squirmed in his chair. Now that he knew how truly dangerous Foxglove was, he had to be extra careful. If not, more hearts might get buried, just like poor Timothy’s.
“I don’t want anyone else getting hurt,” he said. “You said to put it behind me, right?”
Hilda nodded. “Suppose I did. But that still doesn’t make it right.” She raised her spoon to her mouth. “Lord Fancy Pants will get what’s coming to him one of these days. I’m sure of it.”
They ate their soup in silence for a few minutes. It felt good to be home, Rory thought, even with all of the madness surrounding him. “Me and Izzy saw something interesting,” he offered.
“What’s that?”
“A bunch of players, like a carnival. Have you heard anything about it?”
“A carnival? No, don’t think so. I’ll have to ask Ox Bells. He might know.”
Rory was attempting to appear as if everything was normal. But it wasn’t. A group of dark magicians was planning something evil.
A question came to him suddenly. “Mum, who’s the oldest person in Gloom?”
Hilda looked up from her soup. “Well, you’re quite inquisitive tonight, aren’t you?”
Rory didn’t answer.
His mum pushed her bowl away. “Too much pepper,” she said fussily. She fiddled with one of her braids, then let out a breath. “Well,” she started, and then paused. She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Rory. What are you up to now? Something with Izzy, I suppose?”
“We were just wondering,” Rory said, trying to sound like he didn’t care one way or another. He sipped his soup.
Hilda put one elbow on the table and propped her chin in her palm, thinking. She drummed her fingers along her jaw. “Let me see. I suppose it would be Lyra Blanton. She’s been here as long as I can remember.”
“Blanton,” Rory murmured.
“You’ve seen her. She’s down at the market every day, selling those sad flowers.”
An image appeared in Rory’s mind—an old woman with silver hair pulled back in a single braid. He’d passed her by every time he went shopping. “Okay,” he said. “Thanks, Mum.”
Hilda went back to her soup, but not before casting another inquiring look at her son.
As for Rory, he had an idea.
And he had to tell Izzy.