Drink Down the Moon (9 page)

The book called her Kate Crackernuts, but that didn’t stop her from getting a little smile of pleasure every time she turned to that page. She knew that in Faerie the hazel tree was often called the crackernut.

She went straight to the index tonight, looking up Lochbuie. Surprisingly, for all her suspicions, there was such a place listed in the book. From the map she was directed to, she realized it was a part of Gaspe. But there was no Cumin listed as its gruagagh, in fact no gruagagh listed at all. There were two hob skillymen in the area— one named Scattery Rob, the other Dabben Gar— a wisewife named Agnes Lowther, and a longer list of Billy Blinds for the various faerie holdings in and about the immediate vicinity.

There was a Court mentioned as well, but it appeared to be a small one. Not big enough for a gruagagh, it seemed, though there had been one at the turn of the century. According to the book, his name was Balmer Glas, which, even by a long stretch of the imagination, didn’t sound a bit like Cumin.

Kate frowned. She turned to the index again, this time looking under the C’s for Cumin’s name. When she found the listing, it referred her to “Comyn.” That listing sent her to a brief paragraph that told her that the Comyns were an old family of Billy Blinds and gave her various other references to turn to, none of which helped her with her present search.

Sighing, she laid the book aside and went to stand in front of the wall of bookshelves. There were just too many titles. What they needed— as she kept telling Jacky— was a proper index. A file system like in a library, or even a general index book that could send them looking in the right direction. Kate knew that it wasn’t important how much you knew, so much as that you knew where to look for what you wanted to know. Anyone could keep a clutter of information in their head— after all, people were supposed to remember, somewhere inside them, everything that they had ever experienced. The trick was accessing that information.

She replaced The Gruagagbs, Skillyfolk and Billy Blinds of Liomauch Og on the shelf and went to stand by the window. Kinrowan lay spread out before her. She checked on the house with its grey aura and found that while the aura was still present, its greyness didn’t seem as pronounced at the moment.

A thought came to her, and she looked at where the Pook’s body had been discovered. She shivered at the small smudge of grey she saw there as well. It wasn’t near a moonroad, so she probably wouldn’t have noticed it if she hadn’t been looking for it. The spot where the black dog had attacked them had a grey smudge about it as well.

She turned her back on the window and leaned against the sill. They were connected. Whatever had sent the dog after them and killed the Pook was connected to that house on the criss-cross of leys. Had something terrible happened there as well— something really bad, she realized, for the aura to be so dark— or could that even be where the black dog and its master were? It was worth looking into.

She sighed again. This was their first real crisis in the year or so since they’d taken over the Gruagagh’s responsibilities in Kinrowan.

Normally, they did a daily check on the various leys, making sure that the luck flowed properly. There really wasn’t much to the task. Since the Gruagagh hadn’t been all that well liked or trusted, and the faerie had gotten out of the habit of coming to him for advice, they hadn’t had to deal with very many requests for help beyond that duty. The few times they had, long hours of going through the Gruagagh’s books— with the help of Finn— had pointed them to a solution. But now

It wasn’t just the house’s aura, or the Pook’s death, or even the dog’s attack, Kate realized. It was that man downstairs. She didn’t trust him one bit.

Jacky had the unfortunate habit of being impressed with important people. She liked hobnobbing with the Chiefs of the Laird’s Court when she could. Liked to spend time with the Laird and his daughter. She had an on again, off-again relationship with Eilian, the Laird of Dunlogan’s son.

There was no real harm in any of that so far as Kate could see, because Jacky didn’t lord it over anybody just because she knew some highborn folk. But it was just like her to latch onto a strange gruagagh without so much as a thought to the possible consequences. There was something about Cumin, supposedly of Lochbuie, that told Kate he was far more dangerous than anything they could deal with. He was a gruagagh, after all. He had magics that they couldn’t hope to match. If he should turn on them

Her gaze went to the door, then to the secret hollow in the worktable’s leg where the six remaining wallystanes were hidden. The wallystanes could be a problem. After Jacky and her first failure

It had been disconcerting to see Jacky walking around looking like Bhruic Dearg, and a little funny to hear her woman’s voice coming from the tall shape of a man.

After that, they’d waited to use any more of them until they’d found some working instructions in one of the Gruagagh’s books— a long process with Dunrobin Finn translating for them. The next two spells had worked out fine. The stones just took a lot of concentration. You had to fill all your thoughts with what you wanted, keeping them crystal clear in your mind as you broke the wallystane.

Kate knew what she wanted right now. She knew it very clearly.

She argued it out with herself for a few moments longer— weighing her need against the unfairness of using one of Jacky’s stones without asking her— then made her decision. She crossed the room quickly, locked the door and fetched the wallystanes from their hiding place. She took out one of the crystalline spheres and replaced the others. Taking it in hand, she pulled a blank book from the bottom shelf— these were the books that Bhruic had been using to keep his notes and journals in— and brought them both over to the worktable.

She needed a general index and this was going to be it. The blank book, when she opened it after using the wallystane’s magic on it, would answer all her questions. It would tell her where to look for what she needed so there wouldn’t be any more of these marathon expeditions through the hundreds of books that made up the Gruagagh’s library. She just hoped that Jacky wouldn’t be too mad at her. But there was no way she was going downstairs to ask her— not with that gruagagh sitting there, listening.

She held the wallystane between her hands. It was hard and smooth against her palms. It was odd how the stones worked. They were virtually unbreakable. But when you held it between your hands and worked the spell, pressing your hands together, the stone just dissolved, like candyfloss did in your mouth.

Keeping the book in front of her, she held the stone over it and concentrated for all she was worth. A fierce scowl wrinkled her features. She breathed slowly. Not until she was absolutely sure she had it perfect in her mind— that the book would answer her questions, that it would tell her where the information she needed lay— did she press her palms together.

The feeling of the wallystane breaking sent a pleasant tingle up her arms. She grinned as she opened her hands and looked at the sparkle of crystal dust that filled her palms. She counted to ten slowly. When all the crystals had dissolved, she picked up the book and opened it to the first page.

Blank.

Quickly she flipped through the book.

All the pages were blank.

Now she’d done it.

She went through the book carefully a second and third time, holding the pages up to a lamp in case the words were written very, very lightly in it.

Still nothing.

She went over her thoughts. Had she kept them absolutely focused? The book was supposed to answer her—

I’ve got marshmallows for brains, she thought.

Oh, she’d been so clever. She’d concentrated on what she expected the index to do for her, but faerie magic, like the denizens of Faerie itself, were a capricious lot. They were fair. A bargain made was a bargain kept. But you had to spell it out so bloody carefully

.

She looked at the book. Clearing her throat and feeling somewhat foolish, she spoke aloud.

“Will you answer my questions?”

Nothing.

She rifled through some more pages, but they were all the same. Blank.

“Oh, come on!”

The leather-bound cover of the book looked back at her. She flipped through the pages some more, shook the book. She was so sure that she’d figured it out. But the book wasn’t obliging her. Jacky was going to kill her for wasting a wallystane on an empty-book

.

A grin touched her lips again. Quickly she found a pen and opened the book to the first page. What was a book? Pages bound together with words on them. If a book was going to answer her questions, how would it speak? With words. On a page. And how would it hear her questions?

Will you answer my questions? she wrote at the top of the blank page.

As she lifted the pen, words began to form under her question. They were in a neat script, the letters rounded. In fact, she thought, it looked a lot like Bhruic’s handwriting, which she knew from the journals he’d left behind.

What would you like to know? the words said.

Kate gave a sharp sigh of relief. Picking up the book and pen, she went to her chair and sat down, the book open on her lap.

Do you know a gruagagh named Cumin? she wrote. He claims to be from Locbbuie, but he’s not in the book of wizardfolk listings.

Did you look under his name?

Of course. She underlined “course.”

There was a moment’s pause.

Touchy, the words finally said. After another moment, they continued with, If this Cumin is not Listed in the Annals, he will be a rogue gruagagh and should be considered dangerous.

But what should I do about him?

Avoid him.

Lovely. She could have figured that out by herself. She reread what was on the page so far, then wrote again.

Who are you?

I am your answer book.

I meant do you have a name?

Only if you give me one.

There was something that Kate had read in one of the Gruagagh’s books about the indiscriminate giving of names— a warning. Once named, a thing began to have power of its own. Like all things dealing with faerie magic, that too could be dangerous. But it didn’t seem right to Kate that the book should be without one.

How about Caraidankate? she wrote, which meant “friend of Kate” in faerie. Caraid for short?

Now that is a gynkie choice, the book replied, meaning a well-thought-out trick.

Kate smiled and looked at the spine of the book. Embossed in the leather now was the word “Caraidankate.”

How can I find out more about this gruagagh? she wrote.

Catch his reflection in a mirror and show it to me, the book replied. Perhaps I will recognize him.

How will I show it to you?

Catch his reflection, then hide it quickly before that of another is reflected in the glass. Place the mirror face down on one of my pages and I will see him.

Are you Bhruic Dearg? Kate wrote next.

I am his wisdom. I am the friend of Kate Crackernuts.

Kate smiled. Goodbye for now, Caraid, she wrote.

Goodbye, Kate.

She closed the book and held it on her lap. She sat thoughtfully for a long moment, then went to the worktable. Amongst the litter of paraphernalia, she found a tiny mirror, which she put in her pocket. With the book in hand, she went to her own room and dug about in her closet until she came up with a small shoulder bag that just fit the book properly. She didn’t mean to go anywhere without it from now on.

With the book safe and bouncing against her side, she tiptoed down the front stairs and slipped out the front door. Once outside, she made her way to the back of the house.

She hugged the wall when she got near the windows of the kitchen nook. Underneath the closest one, she took the mirror from her pocket and held it over the ledge of the window, hoping that the gruagagh was sitting in the same place as he had been when she’d gone upstairs. She held it there for a few moments, then quickly covered it with her free hand and shoved it back into her pocket. Ten minutes later she was back on the third floor, carefully taking the mirror from her pocket and laying it face down on the page under where the book had written, Goodbye, Kate.

With her usual method of measuring time, she counted from one to ten, then just to be sure, did it again before she took the mirror away. On the page, like an ink drawing, an image of the kitchen nook began to appear.

Kate stared at it in fascination. The picture formed like a developing photograph. When the image was clear, she could clearly make out the gruagagh, the nook around him, and even the back of Jacky’s head. She studied the gruagagh’s face. There was a bit of a haze around his head. As she turned the book this way and that, she realized that it was a vague image superimposed over his— that of a dog’s head.

She shivered and quickly put the book down. It was a few moments before she could pick up her pen again to write.

Do you know him now, Carad?

The book’s reply was slow in coming.

No, it wrote finally. But I know what manner of gruagagh be is. He steals the luck of faerie for his magics, rather than using the luck that the Moon would give him. Beware of this creature, Kate.

Does he mean us harm?

He means every living thing harm.

How can we stop him?

You must find where he has hidden his heart— when you find it, you must destroy it.

Kate stared at the words. The gruagagh had hidden his heart? That was something that just happened in fairy tales. She no sooner thought that than she realized how ludicrous a thought it was. As if she hadn’t been living in the middle of a fairy tale for the past year or so.

Where can I find his heart? she wrote.

I don’t know, the book replied. But it will be in a place that he considers very safe. To find his heart, you must understand him. But be careful that he doesn’t steal your own luck first.

Kate swallowed nervously. Oh, Jacky, she thought. What have we gotten ourselves into this time?

Eight

By about one-thirty, Patty’s Place was empty except for Henk and the restaurant’s employees. He sat at a small table by the stage, which consisted of a space in the corner of the room where the tables had been slightly pushed aside for the two musicians who had been playing there that night. The members of the duo Mountain Ash had finished packing up their gear and joined Henk for a last pint before heading home.