The Riddles of Epsilon (6 page)

They run from their cradles!

They embrace my cobwebs and cool dew.

 

Eyes blink in the wintergreen—

The magical light where infant workers

Smiled, last summer.

Singers of songs, players of harps—

My wise babies with no enemy!

With silver pens they are writing at casements,

All busy with charm.

 

Their knowledge I will sing of,

I will flute them to owls,

Call them to seals,

Spreading my song.

 

At last, the faithful plumes of princes come out,

Parading past crowds!

Then from the castle door, the east will rise

And the west will slumber.

 

The icy north will hammer the door

And the Lemon Squire turn south.

 

Squire, let me sing, I pray!

Let the sea sip the shore.

(He in weakness has to open up Like limpets!

Though hungry for nectar, he has no choice.)

 

Crush petals, O my hand!

Honesty seeds—heather blossom—

Singing to release their scents!

No dust of winter will ignore my perfume.

 

Dwelling in his bone castle

He reaches empty hands, filled with no music.

Bring me my harp that lies chiming in heather—

Sing and dance, but not of death!

 

To life itself will I sing.

To life itself must I step.

Let winter possess all her heady scents,

My own musk is not black or cold.

My dripping heart of summer brings seeds:

Sows them even over the ruin of December's earth.

 

Listen to the owl in the ruin of the keep.

He is weaving the boughs together.

My heart swells with his delight.

In his eyes, the mark of the moon.

 

Arise, my songs! My ballads

Are chanting all seedlings near—

Tiny travelers on wind or feather,

Flee now and take root!

 

From your growth I take my melody.

From you, my song swells.

From the summer of life,

The songster of beauty.

 

On the bottom, Sebastian had scrawled the clue Epsilon had given him, when he came to warn him about this ballad:

 

V THEN V THEN V THEN V

 

I stared at the name heading the ballad: Yolandë. Aloud, I tried to say the name a few times. The dots over the e make me think it's spoken with an emphasis on the e—so that it rhymes with panda. It looks like an archaic spelling of Yolanda to me.

Then I read the ballad over and over, trying to think what “V then V then V then V” might mean. But it was no
use—it was all beyond me. So finally I turned to the last paper, which Sebastian had labeled
THE KEY
. Here it is.

I stared at all the symbols until my eyes went fuzzy. They were the same sort of symbols as had appeared on my bedroom wall—and I'd managed to decipher those. Surely this was the same process? I just needed to set my mind to it.

It was then that I realized just how tired I was. The heat of the room and the rich scents of the spices and the perfumed candles standing around—not lit, of course, but still giving off this heady scent. I've smelled something like it before, I think—Mom's endless incense sticks or the smell in a church. But this smell is richer, older; you can almost taste it in the air. And the drone of insects, and a lost bee in the window, trying to push out the pane of glass with its forehead. And above it all, the endless
Rhroo-hoo! Rhroo-hoo!
of the pigeon in her nest. I felt half hypnotized.

Anyway, I couldn't stop yawning. I felt dizzy, too. I remembered the doctor's warning about the heat wave. So I returned the boxes and came down here to have a rest, to think and doze in the rocking chair.

I like this place now. It feels creepy at times—but it also feels like it's mine. Like it's for me to use. Any minute, I keep expecting to see Epsilon—the real Epsilon, not just glimpsed shadows—suddenly appear in a corner. I wonder what he really looks like. I wonder if I'd be scared. I've never seen a ghost (although he laughed like mad when I asked him if he was one!). I want to meet him.

I just stopped writing, looked all round the room.

“When can I meet you, Epsilon?” I asked the house out loud.

The pigeon stopped cooing. But then a new noise started. Outside. A sort of flapping. Like wings, but huge wings—it can't be the pigeon, she's too small. Like great birds, coming nearer.

I just went out and searched the sky for birds. Nothing. Only the sun beating down on the top of my head, and the hushing of the sea in the bay below.

It's no good—I have to get out of this heat. I'm going back. I'll take the documents with me and decipher the symbols at home. Mom will go crazy if she sees me up and about—I'll have to sneak in. She'll still be in the kitchen, I know—she's promised the doctor she'll bake for the garden party, or the Greet, as they call it here. Though how she can stand being near the stove in this weather is beyond me.

Okay. I feel sick again. Time to go back.

I am strangely reluctant to leave.

'Bye, Epsilon.

THERE ARE TWO MEMBERS IN THE CHAT ROOM:

J
ESS AND
A
VRIL

AVRIL:
You're making all this up! You always did tell tall stories—you never stopped exaggerating.

JESS:
I'm not doing that now—honest, Avril.

AVRIL:
So let me get this right. Now you have met a ghost. Correction—
two
ghosts!

JESS:
No. Yes. Oh, I don't know.

AVRIL:
And one is a little boy and one is a man called Epsilon, who is named after a bucket??? Oh, puh-
leeze
!

JESS:
He is not named after a bucket! The bucket just had his name carved on it.

AVRIL:
Why? And why was it buried in the ground, under an arrow? Come on then—tell me!

JESS:
I don't
know.

AVRIL:
So ask him! Ask either of them—the teeny-tiny ghost or the great big ghost.

JESS:
Epsilon said he is not a ghost.

AVRIL:
Well, he is either a ghost or he is a figment of your imagination. Either way, you can still ask him. Like, “Hey, Mr. Figment-of-My-Imagination, what's all this about buried buckets and hidden hammocks, tell me quick 'cause I am driving my friend Avril totally crazy!”

JESS:
I knew you wouldn't understand.

AVRIL:
You knew right. I'M GOING. I'll catch you again sometime. But next time, do me a favor?

JESS:
What?

AVRIL:
Try to talk about something normal, okay? No more tall stories. This is getting boring.

AVRIL HAS NOW LEFT THE CHAT ROOM

JESS:
Epsilon? Are you there?

E:
Of course I am.

JESS:
Yeah—eavesdropping as usual.

E:
She thinks you are telling lies. Why would she think that?

JESS:
She's stupid.

E:
“Tall stories,” she said. “Exaggerating.”

JESS:
Forget her. She's horrible.

E:
So you have a bit of a reputation for telling lies?

JESS:
Okay, okay—so what if I do? I'm bound to tell lies, aren't I? I mean, it's inherited. I get it from my precious mother.

E:
And what does your mother lie about?

JESS:
Not “does.” Did. Lied and lied and lied. She is such a hypocrite! Saying They'd come up here to get me away from Avril and everything. Rubbish! Dad wanted us to get away, all right—away from Mom's
boyfriend
. Away from the fact she'd just had an
affair
. Away from all the lies she told. Lie after lie after lie. But I found out. I found her with him. Told Dad.

E:
I see. So you came away for a new start all round.

JESS:
Okay, so now you know. Can we change the subject now?

E:
Your dad sounds like a very forgiving sort to me.

JESS:
Dad? He's a doormat. Pathetic.

E:
Is all this why you spend less and less time with them?

JESS:
Suppose so.

E:
And why you've moved half your things down to the cottage?

JESS:
Now
who's exaggerating? I only moved my laptop and my homeschooling books.

E:
And your files and your favorite beanbag and lots of other stuff. Running away from them won't help matters, will it?

JESS:
Oh, stop lecturing me. Let's change the subject. I just like spending time there. And I've got a million questions to ask you.

E:
As you wish.

JESS:
So—you used to sleep in a hammock? Cool!

E:
No. I
do
sleep in a hammock. Present tense. Although I don't really sleep as such—just rest. But in that hammock, yes.

JESS:
Present tense? You still live there?!????!!!!!!!!

E:
Of course.

JESS:
But—you never leave any footprints in all the dust!

E:
Haven't you gathered by now, you are dealing with something that does not follow the rules of the world?

JESS:
Tell me then. I need to know. What
am
I dealing with?

E:
You'll understand much more when you read the documents in the second box.

JESS:
Aha! So I was right—the boxes ARE in order!

E:
Of course. The key will fit the others when the time is right for you to learn more.

JESS:
And why am I learning all this weirdo stuff? I mean, why me?

E:
Because of your mother. Because of the danger that she is in.

JESS:
Oh, not back to her again. I'm not talking about her, all right? I just want some answers. Like—when can I see
you
?

E:
But you have seen me.

JESS:
Not a coat on a door, not glimpsed in a mirror! When can I really see you? Sebastian did—he said you appeared in his room—in
this
attic room—and made him spill his inkpot. So if he did, why can't I?

E:
You will. In a fortnight. At the Greet. Maybe even before that.

JESS:
You'll be at the Greet?

E:
I'll be around. You will see me. You will see a friendly enemy. You will see a hostile friend. You must not get them mixed up.

JESS:
Oh, gawd—more riddles. Why can't you just tell me what's going on?

E:
Hidden things need a place to hide.

JESS:
Why? I mean, why all the secrecy? Why can't you just tell me what's going on?

E:
Don't forget—there are others watching, waiting, listening in all the time. They want to solve all this, too. That's why I can only tell it to you piece by piece. They might find one piece of it, or a few pieces, but they must not find the whole. So we have to keep things hidden.

JESS:
And that reminds me—
who hid the bucket?

E:
Sebastian, of course. He buried it.

JESS:
Why?

E:
Because he got scared.

JESS:
What of?

E:
Of you, mostly.

JESS:
Look, Epsilon. I am asking you really nicely. Please, please tell me—what is going on? What's so important about the bucket? Where did it come from? Why did it have your name carved on it?

E:
Because I made it. And signed it.

JESS:
You made the bucket?

E:
I made it out of special wood—bog oak. There's a lot of it lying about here. It's ancient—that's the important thing. Ancient materials have always been used on this island. A message
from
something ancient
about
something ancient.

JESS:
What on earth is bog oak?

E:
Bog oak is wood that has been covered in peat. It preserves it. It lies there for centuries—whole tree trunks, whole stumps. It carves well. And if you're going to make a special bucket, you might as well use a special wood.

JESS:
A special bucket?

E:
Part of my job is to guide you. I tried to guide Sebastian, too. So I implanted the symbols into something I knew he'd use, down at the cottage. He spent whole days down there, hot thirsty days—I knew he'd drink from the well. I hoped he would find the symbols.

JESS:
The symbols that were reflected onto my bedroom wall? About “a mirrored dream” and “a followed sound”?

E:
The very same.

JESS:
And did he find them?

E:
Not at first. At first he just played with the bucket. He sailed little paper boats in it. Kept his pet frog in it—that sort of thing. This was when he'd first met me, when he'd first found the cottage.

JESS:
And then?

E:
And then he started dreaming about you. He started getting the messages. He saw the symbols, just like you did, reflected from the bucket. He got scared. Even of me. For a time, he just hid everything to do with all this. Hid everything, in all sorts of places.

JESS:
Hang on—reflected on his bedroom wall by what? How can anything reflect from solid wood?

E:
I keep telling you. You are not dealing with something that follows the rules of this earth. It was more a matter of time. It was time for the message to be seen. So—you saw it. Both of you.

JESS:
But then he got scared? And buried the bucket? Why didn't you just dig it up again, if you knew I needed to see it?

E:
Because there was no need. I knew that whoever carried on his search—his work—would find it anyway. Once power comes to the surface, there is no stopping it. But I gave you a bit of help. I carved the arrow into the wall.

JESS:
Don't tell me—you also rocked the rocking chair to make me run out of the cottage and down the garden. You scared me half to death!

E:
Of course I did.

JESS:
And the symbols? The symbols on the volcano stone—the doorstep? Did you carve those, too?

E:
Yes.

JESS:
To leave a code, to help me decipher the symbols?

E:
Yes.

JESS:
So why volcanic glass?

E:
I told you—I am not from your time. I deal with ancient things. Things that have been around since time began. I like to surround myself with reminders of those times. Bog oak. Volcanic glass. Fossils. Have you seen my kitchen floor, for example?

JESS:
Seen it? Of course I have—I've walked on it.

E:
Look closer next time you go. And make it soon. Tomorrow. There are some interesting things in my room. Go and take a look.

JESS:
Oh, I now have your royal permission to snoop about, do I? You wouldn't let me, back at the cottage! Why, thank you, O great one!

E:
No! Please do not call me that! I am just a worker of the One.

JESS:
What One?

E:
Come back to the cottage tomorrow.

JESS:
Epsilon . . . who is the One that you work for? What is his name?

E:
He is the One.

JESS:
One? Is this another clue—like, the number one?

E HAS NOW LEFT THE CHAT ROOM

LATER

Sebastian's diary has upset me a bit. I keep reading it over. Epsilon warned me about my mom; Epsilon warned Seb about his mama. Seb is going to go to the Greet; we are going to go to the Greet. Seb's mom began acting strangely. And this is what's bothering me more than anything else.

Mom.

Much as I hate her, I can't help worrying. She's been busy baking for the Greet, cakes and scones and stuff—the freezer is full of them. But she keeps stopping what she's doing and staring out the window. Like she's far, far away; like she's not here at all. Then Dad will get cross and have to repeat himself. “Elizabeth!” he snaps. Then she comes to herself again and goes on working. But she keeps sighing, sighing all the time. And doodling. Endlessly sketching. (Which is not unusual in itself—after all, she is an artist.) But she's doodling the same weird thing, over and over.

I keep coming across it up and down the house—the same image. In her sketch pads, over and over. On the table napkins. On the steamed-up kitchen window.

A face.

A faintly drawn woman's face, staring out from behind something like a net curtain. Or from behind wobbly glass. Big, scared eyes and such an expression—such a desperate,
pleading look, it wrings my heart. Over and over, the same face, and she draws it all the time.

I can't work it out. Last time she got all faraway, last spring, it was all because of That Man. Her boyfriend. The boy toy, as Dad called him. Days and days of it, every time you looked up there she was, sighing, staring into space, listening to soppy music—all that icky “in love” stuff. And sneaking off at all hours, telling lies all the time about where she was. So here we are on a remote island and I keep thinking, is she at it again? But who on earth with? Dr. Parker, maybe? Then I remember how brash and jolly he is, and besides—it feels all different. Not like she's pining for a new man at all—more like she's getting sick or something.

At least my dad is a bit nicer than poor old Seb's! My dad would send for the doctor straightaway if Mom got ill. So that's all right.

As to the ballad, I have to agree with Seb. Yolandë's song is cool! Why all the dire warnings about it? I don't know. Keep racking my brains about all the “V then V then V then V” stuff, but I'm no wiser than Sebastian about it.

The page full of symbols was easy, though. I had it translated in a jiffy. I had to fiddle around and add punctuation but managed it in the end.

It says:

 

The Key

 

In the space below the well

A map to the tooth lies hidden.

The space is marked by an infidel

Whose hand reveals what's bidden.

 

Through merrow hair

In Neptune's lair

Past thirty fingers pale—

Then hark for a river

In the dark

And reach for the spout