Eliza's Shadow (30 page)

When the last knot unraveled, he sucked in an
expectant breath as the string fell away. Nothing happened.

“Mmm, curious.” He muttered again to himself and
gingerly peeled away the brown paper.

With the paper crumpled on the floor, the mysterious
object sitting on the desk was nearly as ambiguous as it had been when wrapped.

The object appeared to be a tangled ball of black
wire carved out like a piece of Swiss cheese.

“Aha! A Sithygrif! I haven’t seen one of these in
decades. Clever! Clever Amelia.” Uncle Harold proclaimed more to himself than
his audience with an amused grin and leaned closer to the ambiguous ball.

“What’s a sithygrif Uncle Harold?” Ren asked
taking a step closer to the desk.

But Uncle Harold wasn’t listening to him. His face
was so close to the sithygrif that the tip of his long nose poked through one
of the many holes in the lumpy ball and he was whispering.

After several minutes of hushed murmuring, Uncle
Harold sat back in his chair and frowned.

“Odd.” He muttered.

“You see, Ren, Eliza, a sithygrif is a puzzle that
should reveal its message when whispered to by the intended recipient. I simply
can’t imagine what has gone wrong with the spell binding this particular one.”
He said staring at the inert metal ball and rubbed his chin.

“What if I try?” Ren asked.

“Amelia knows that Eliza and I are the couriers,
maybe she coded it for one of us.” He offered.

Uncle Harold’s eyebrows peaked. “Wouldn’t have
been wise of her now, would it? If she’d done that then why go to all the
trouble of making a sithygrif in the first place? Its purpose is to absolve the
courier from responsibility of the truth, should you have been ambushed.” He
grumbled.

Ren held his tongue seemingly unsure of whether to
proceed.

After a few moments of pensive silence Uncle
Harold gestured toward the sithygrif. “Well, go on then.” He said impatiently.

Ren took another step toward the desk and leaned
down bringing his face close to the sithygrif. “Is there something particular I
should whisper?” He asked.

“Not at all, say whatever you’d like. If the
message is meant for you, your whisper will be enough.” Uncle Harold replied.

Ren murmured so softly I couldn’t make out his
words but despite his best effort, the sithygrif remained unchanged. Finally
giving up, he reluctantly stood and turned away from the desk. His eyes lit on
mine expectantly.

“Eliza, why don’t you have a go?” He asked.

I took a few slow steps to the desk and hesitantly
leaned toward the sithygrif. I felt silly talking to an inanimate object as if
I was telling it a juicy secret and I just couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“Go on now! Let’s get about it shall we?” Uncle
Harold urged in my ear.

Feeling Ren and Uncle Harold’s impatient gazes
upon me, I took a deep breath and softly recited the lyrics to the song “London
Bridge” for lack of a better idea.

Just as I began the second line of ‘falling down’
a piece of the sithygrif actually did fall down. And what fell off was a shiny
black letter ‘a.’

After the first letter disentangled itself from
the ball, others soon followed like leaves off an autumn tree.

“Humph! Amelia should have known better.” Uncle
Harold muttered shaking his head all the while peering at the chain of letters
spilling onto his desk.

The little letters slid across the desk and
jostled around each other until they began to form words. The process continued
until the entire ball had disintegrated and the desk was covered in line after
line of words.

Ren and I scampered around the desk, flanking
Uncle Harold in his large chair, to read the letter.

dearest harold it
has been too long my old friend –

i regret
contacting you only to disclose a most disturbing truth

there has been a
rising in the north –

ivarr the viking
who has been living in peace in the northernmost section of newfoundland for
nearly four centuries is assembling an army –

there has been a
wicked skirmish brewing in his land of birth between the kingdom of the elves
and his own beloved descendants –

despite the heka
council’s prohibitions against violence ivarr has used mind manipulation to
persuade a number of witches to join him –

i myself have
rescued a few from his clutches –

the breadth of
his intentions are unknown but it is feared time is short to stop him –

word of the
turmoil is spreading like wildfire carrying fear and distrust with it –

your wisdom and
assistance is requested in quieting this unpleasant disturbance as swiftly as
possible –

gravely, amelia
light

“If the letter is addressed to you, Uncle Harold,
why was it coded for Eliza?” Ren asked.

Uncle Harold stared pensively at Amelia’s message
before responding. “Ah well, it appears my dear Amelia wanted to ensure I
shared the message. Clearly, she felt it important Eliza was privy to this
highly confidential news.” He said in a preoccupied manner as if his thoughts
lay elsewhere.

“Do you know why?” I asked uneasily. While the
situation with Ivarr sounded tenuous, I didn’t see how it would affect me
particularly and from the sound of the guy, I wasn’t interested in getting
involved with him or his war.

Uncle Harold yanked the top drawer of his desk
open and with one large sweep of his arm brushed the little letters into it.
Then he slammed the drawer closed and with a snap of his fingers a key appeared
in his hand. He promptly locked the drawer and with another snap the key
disappeared.

“Oh my dear, do not worry yourself about the
matter now. I am certain the purpose of informing you will make itself known in
due time.” Uncle Harold mumbled in response, sounding tired and a bit sad.

Ren and I circled back around his desk and sank
onto chairs.

Uncle Harold lifted his gaze from the desk drawer
and smiled wearily at us. “Well now. I must complete a bit of paperwork
informing the Society of the success of your first important mission.” He said.

Ren and I glanced at each other quickly to share a
triumphant grin.

“My work here should not keep me long. Why don’t
the two of you take leave now and meet me at home within the hour. I will take
you out for a celebratory feast!” He added exuberantly.

“Uncle Harold, that’s not necess
–
” Ren
began but was interrupted by an emphatic wave of Uncle Harold’s hand.

“No no, we will celebrate. It is most important to
celebrate even our minor successes in times like these.” He stated firmly.

Ren stopped protesting.

“In that case, we’ll see you at home shortly.” He
said gratefully.

“You can find your way out, I assume?” Uncle
Harold asked.

“Of course.” Ren answered and leapt to his feet.

Convinced of our departure, Persephone boldly
leapt from the bookshelf and landed with a soft thud onto Uncle Harold’s desk
scattering papers and raising a plume of dust.

“Gracious! Do take care, my dear. Curiosity kills
the cat, you know.” Uncle Harold muttered swishing his hands through the cloud.

I turned back, wondering for whom his warning was
intended, but he was absorbed in the task of shooing Persephone off his desk.

We exited Uncle Harold’s office quietly and Ren
pulled the heavy door shut behind us. Instead of turning left to trace our
previous footsteps, he turned right and marched confidently down the dismal
hallway toward the interior of the building.

“Where are you going?” I argued.

“Shhh!” He murmured, holding a finger to his lips
then motioned urgently for me to follow him.

I scampered after him shaking my head. When we
reached the end of the musty narrow hall, without explanation, Ren began
descending a winding stairwell.

“Don’t worry, I know my way around here.” Ren
whispered.

As we descended into the bowels of the building,
an uneasy feeling swept through me. The air grew dank and thick with the scent
of mildew. Pinpricks of sweat stung my exposed skin. The stairwell ended in a
dark, moist landing. Grime lined the edges of the floor. The sound of dripping
water seeped from the murky corners. A rotting door appeared to be the only
option for pursuing the route further.

Assessing the distressed door, I stomped my foot
in defiance. “Forget it, Ren. It’s dark and smelly down here. Let’s just go
back out the way we came.” My voice assumed a pleading edge.

Ren turned to me alarmed. “Eliza, I just want to
show you something. I’ve been here countless times before. Come on, this is
going to be fun.” A tempting smile lit his face. He reached for my hand pulling
me toward the door.

Before I could protest further, he swung the door
open revealing a vast glowing chamber beyond. Intrigued, I followed him across
the threshold. We stepped onto a platform before a rushing onyx river. Ornate
brick mosaics climbed the walls to a high domed ceiling. Across the river,
intricate sconces revealed passage to three watery tunnels. Gas lanterns burned
bright high on the walls casting frenetic ghosts on the water.

“Where are we?” I asked in amazement.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” He said with satisfied
grin.

“This is the River Fleet.” His eyes turned toward
the dark rush before our feet.

I considered the river before me curiously.
“That’s weird. When does it pop up, you know, above ground?”

Ren’s eyes twinkled in the flickering light. “It
doesn’t.”

“Well, where does it lead then?” I asked confused.

“Into the Thames…eventually. There are loads of
secret rivers like this one that run under London. The Fleet is probably the
largest. Long ago, this river was so filthy it was like an open sewer running
through town. The Victorian solution to the problem was to bury the river in
these tunnels and forget about it.” Ren’s eyes scanned the chamber as he spoke.

“Well, the tunnels are certainly pretty
considering they weren’t intended to be seen by anyone.” I shrugged.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Ren remarked. “Uncle Harold
keeps a boat down here, at least, he used to. I know a way to get out to the
open water. We can literally sail home! What do you think?” He asked
expectantly.

I surveyed the black water nervously.

“The current may look swift but actually the tide
is going out and it’s really not very deep.” He assured me.

“Tide?” I asked.

“It’s a tidal river. During high tide it can fill
some of these chambers but it’s low now, completely safe.” He said confidently.

Ren sped along the narrow brick path at the
water’s edge toward one of the dark tunnels.

I scampered behind him, shivering in the damp air.
“As long as it’s not too far, I guess it would be ok.” I conceded.

Ren stopped and turned to me. “Eliza, Uncle Harold
has taken me along this route a dozen times. Don’t worry.” He said
dismissively.

“Ok, ok. Yeah, this will be fun. Let’s go.” I
agreed.

“The boat is tethered by the opening of that
tunnel. Come on.” Ren gestured for me to follow and picked up the pace.

The slippery brick ledge was shadowed between the
lanterns. I edged along it carefully, wincing at the periodic sound of
skittering feet. Glancing back, my fears were confirmed at the sight of a rat
racing along the wall. Reaching the mouth of the tunnel, a dank frigid breeze
whipped our faces. A tiny weathered boat bobbed in the current, anchored by a
worn rope to a rusty pole.

“When was the last time you rode in this boat?” I
asked warily.

“Uncle Harold uses it all the time. It’s old, but
safe.” He assured me while reeling the craft to the ledge.

A set of oars and two frayed cushions rested
neatly in the hull.

“Jump in.” He instructed.

I surveyed the murky water one last time before
carefully lowering myself into the vessel. The boat swayed from side to side as
I struggled to remain calm and settle on the seat cushion.

“Careful now, if you fall in, I might not be able
to catch you until you reach the Thames.” Ren laughed mischievously.

“And when does the fun start?” I asked in a
saccharine tone.

Ren gave the little boat a shove, then leapt off
the ledge landing gracefully on his seat. In one swift motion he grasped the
oars and plunged them into the water. With agile maneuvering he steered us into
the current. The swift water swept us through the dark portal. Rushing water
echoed loudly against the tunnel walls. Waves slapped the sides of the boat
sending a spray into the air and dampening our faces and clothes. The lanterns
were scantily spaced in the tunnel, leaving wide stretches of dark travel.

After several minutes of raucous sailing, we
entered a large bright chamber and the current slowed. The large chamber
stretched out before us with no end in sight. As the water grew calm, my racing
heart slowed and I studied the rich brick mosaics along the walls.

“Eliza, look up.” Ren pointed to the high ceiling.

Glancing above, I marveled at what looked like a
round stained glass window. Weak light from high above filtered through the
panes.

“Stained glass? Down here?” I asked.

“That’s one of the interesting things about this
place. There aren’t many explanations for it.” Ren responded with a shrug.

We continued for some time in the large airy
chamber, which began to feel like a ride through a museum.

“The channel curves down here shortly and then
we’ll hit the Thames. Just a few more minutes.” Ren labored with the oars once
again.

Nearing the bend in the channel, the boat rocked
violently bumping against the ledge. The current picked up speed. Looking
ahead, the water flowed into another smaller, very dark tunnel. I glanced
behind me, taking in a last glimpse of the mysteriously beautiful cavern.