Part 6 (1/2)
”I see,” Oona said politely, and did not mention the fact that the so-called beauty cream looked more like congealing swamp slime. Not wis.h.i.+ng to put the girl on her guard, however, Oona left the subject alone. ”May I come in?” she asked.
The girl hesitated, her gaze falling on Deacon as if not sure what to make of the ominous bird. Then with a short nod she opened the door and backed away. Oona stepped inside and closed the door behind them. The floor swayed beneath their feet, and the young witch pressed her hand to her stomach, as if she might be ill.
”Oh,” Oona said. ”I see you got the Captain's Cabin. I haven't been in this room for a very long time.”
In truth, it had been years since she had entered the room. The Captain's Cabin had been one of her mother's favorite rooms to visit whenever she would pay a call to Pendulum House. Her mother had had a great love of boats, Oona remembered. But of course Dark Street had no sailing port to speak of, nor any lake to sail upon. The duck pond in Oswald Park, which supported only small canoes and rowboats, had been a favorite destination of her mother's. But if someone wanted the sensation of sailing on a grand s.h.i.+p across the high seas, then the only place on Dark Street to go would have been the Captain's Cabin on the second floor of Pendulum House, which stuck out of the side of the great manor house like a giant s.h.i.+pwreck.
The windows were all shaped into round s.h.i.+p's portholes, and on the walls hung various charting tools and spygla.s.ses and a spoked steering wheel nearly twice Oona's size. But it was not the room's decor that made it so peculiar. The smell of salt water clung to the dampened air, while the floor rocked beneath their feet like a s.h.i.+p adrift on calm waters. After Oona's baby sister, Flora, had been born, her mother would often visit the Captain's Cabin, and the rocking motion would lull the baby to sleep.
The herbal, cinnamony fragrance of Sanora's facial cream mingled with the salty sea air, and Oona felt both delighted and saddened by the memory of her mother. But then the room gave a sudden lurch to one side, as if a rogue wave had slapped full force against the side of the s.h.i.+p. Sanora placed both hands over her midsection, and Oona felt a moment of pity for the girl.
”I'm sorry for the accommodations,” she said. ”Pendulum House is a most unique place. I suppose any house with so much magic in it is bound to be an oddity. But believe me, you haven't gotten the worst room. Two doors down is a room that is a complete jungle-quite literally-and you can hear all sorts of creepy things crawling all around you. Impossible to sleep in, if you ask me. Though, during a stormy night, it's somewhat difficult to hold on to your dinner in the Captain's Cabin.”
The witch swayed on her feet, putting out a hand to steady herself.
”Perhaps we should sit down on the bed,” Oona suggested.
They crossed the room on wobbly land legs and sat. Oona felt a cold wetness seep through her skirts as she realized too late that the bedding was damp from the moist sea air. Sanora's fingers fidgeted anxiously with her own dress.
”You can relax, if you like,” Oona suggested. ”Perhaps take your hat off.”
”Oh, no, never!” Sanora said, grabbing the brim of her hat. ”We witches never remove our hats. It's ... unthinkable.”
Oona threw a glance at Deacon, as if to say: Why hadn't he ever told her about such a fact? Deacon only shrugged; apparently this was news to him as well.
”Please forgive me, Sanora,” Oona said. ”It's just that, well, there is very little known about witches. Perhaps if you could tell me a bit about your customs, I could be sure not to upset you in the future. What is it that you witches all do, by the way?”
Sanora tugged nervously at her ear. ”It's kind of boring.”
”Boring?” Oona asked. ”You should try listening to Deacon lecture on the improper usage of adverbs and dangling participles.”
”What's a dangling participle?” asked Sanora.
”My point exactly,” said Oona.
”Well!” said Deacon. ”Someone has to protect the English language from sinking into utter chaos. Sometimes I believe it degrades by the minute.”
”See what I mean?” Oona said to Sanora. ”If I can put up with that, then I can surely stand to hear about life under Witch Hill.”
Sanora cracked a smile. ”Ain't much to tell, really. We spend most our time underground, right? But sometimes we're allowed up topside, you know, to gather supplies and the like ... but then we're to be coming straight back to the hill. No dillydallying.”
Oona squinched up her nose. ”That doesn't sound like a very good deal to me. Do you like it?”
Sanora only shrugged. ”Like I said, it's kind of boring. That's why I wanted to apply for the apprentice position. But things ain't turning out the way I'd hoped.”
”Hmm,” Oona intoned before asking: ”You said you are sometimes allowed out of the hill. Who allows you? The older witches?”
Sanora said nothing, eyes downcast.
Oona let the question go, and asked: ”What is the inside of the hill like? Is it nice and neat, or just a big hole in the ground?”
Sanora drew her legs up beneath her, but Oona got the impression that she was considering something. Reading the girl's expression through the thick slather of goop on her face was all but impossible ... but Sanora's eyes, those great big, sad-looking eyes, appeared surprisingly wise.
”Well, ain't really a hole,” Sanora said finally. ”It's more like a patchwork of twisting tunnels and the like. They run all over. You could get yourself good and lost in there, if you didn't know where you was goin'. Get lost forever.”
”And the other witches?” Oona asked, feeling a bit daring now that she'd gleaned some actual information. ”The older ones. Why is it that they never come aboveground?”
But Oona knew the moment she asked it that she had made a mistake. Sanora's mouth clamped shut, her lips completely disappearing beneath the slimy facial cream. Oona decided to change tactics.
She stood, ruffling the back of her dress, attempting to air out the uncomfortable ocean dampness. ”You know, there is one thing you could tell me, Sanora, that would be of enormous help. Nothing to do with the hill, I promise.”
Sanora nodded. Oona knelt, and the light from the outside streetlamps spilled through the portholes and lit up her face. It was a serious look she wore, and the younger girl pulled her feet out from beneath her and placed them flat on the floor.
”Is there anything that you might have seen,” Oona asked, ”when my uncle was attacked?”
Sanora's hands began to fidget.
”You did, didn't you,” Oona said, more a statement than a question. ”It's all right, Sanora. You can tell me. Nothing bad will happen.”
”It weren't what I saw when he was attacked,” Sanora said, her voice almost a whisper. ”It was what I saw yesterday. That creepy ol' blind man, Mr. Grimsbee.”
”Go on,” Oona encouraged. She could feel the excitement bubbling inside her.
Sanora's gaze s.h.i.+fted to the door, then back to Oona. ”The entrance to the hill is a secret, right? It was enchanted long ago so that only a witch can find it. Well, anyway, as you probably well know, Witch Hill sits on the opposite side of the street from that big museum. And it was as I made me way out of the hill that I see ol' Grimsbee in front of the museum ... on the top steps, right? I'd most like never have even noticed him, if it weren't for him yelling at someone who weren't there.”
Oona shook her head. ”Are you sure you didn't see him today? And not yesterday?”
Sanora did not hesitate. ”No, it was yesterday, as I went out for supplies.”
Peculiar, Oona thought. And I saw him doing the same thing today, before he disappeared.
Sanora looked highly uncomfortable. ”Reason I bring it up is ... well, is ...”
She trailed off, as if unsure of her next words, but Oona spoke clearly, her words locking together like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle: ”Is because my uncle was attacked with a dagger that could have come only from one place: the Museum of Magical History.”
Oona closed the door to the Captain's Cabin, her mind racing. She strode several steps to the center of the hallway and stopped to peer at the long line of doors. Behind one of them was her uncle's attacker.
”How could Grimsbee be the attacker?” Deacon asked from her shoulder. ”The laws governing the dagger state very clearly that the a.s.sa.s.sin must see the victim in order to throw the dagger with their mind.”
”Do you believe that Mr. Grimsbee is truly blind, Deacon? Have you ever seen a blind man act in such a way?”
Deacon considered this for a moment. ”But why would Grimsbee want to attack your uncle?”
Oona racked her brain for any kind of motive, but she could not think of a single one. But then again, she still did not see a motive for any of the applicants to have attacked him. The frustration began to build in her like pressure in a steam engine. She kicked her foot against the wall, startling Deacon from her shoulder, and the shock from the kick sent phantom fingers tingling up her leg.
”Ouch!” she said.
”Do be careful,” Deacon replied, returning to her shoulder.
”h.e.l.lo?” said a voice.