Monday Musing: Review

So it's been a while since our regularly scheduled Monday Musing.  I hope you haven't minded that Tabitha was taking up all the space. 

On that remark, any thoughts?  I know I've got to start my second round of edits to tighten it up some more, but after that I'll be starting to seriously consider sending it out into the publishing world.  I know I have several options.

1.  Typical: get an agent and have them shop the book around.
     -Pros: the agent does all the marketing and things I hate to do and am really bad at.  They get a real publisher to look at my book and possibly publish it.
     -Cons: I have to pay the agent and the publisher a large amount of whatever I make off my book.  So unless I sell thousands of copies, I make next to nothing.

2.  I publish online all by myself.
     -Pros: I don't have to spend very much to get it out into the world, and other people can buy it for cheap, which will lead to more people buying it.
     -Cons: I have to do all the marketing myself.   Brrgh. 

3.  I try to shop the book around to real publishers all by myself.
    -Pros: not paying for an agent.
    -Cons: real publishers don't read unsolicited manuscripts, and if a publisher picks me up (somehow) then I have to pay for an agent anyway.

So far option number 2 (do it all myself) is the likeliest one I'll pick.  Because even though it might not work all that well, I won't lose any money by trying. 

But if I were to try option 3 (look for a publisher myself) I'd likely send Tabitha overseas.  I've got a hunch it might do slightly better over there, at least at first.  Of course I could be horribly wrong.  That's always possible.

It's just all so incredibly frustrating!  I know it's a stereotype that artists are horrible at business and selling their art etc, but I seem to be falling straight into that--do not pass go, do not collect $200.  (ooh, $200.  Please?)

My sister gave me some wonderful advice about how to connect with other people online and really get into the blogging community so that I can self-promote.  My sister is amazingly smart and good at that sort of thing. 

I, on the other hand, wiggle and squirm and make faces and pout horribly whenever I'm told I have to interact with other living beings--ones I don't know, that is.  Somehow it feels so much worse to bother someone I don't know at all, as opposed to bothering my friends and family relentlessly.  (how many of you have actually finished reading my book?  Hmm?? :)  ) 

I feel like as soon as I say anything to promote myself, I'll sound like an arrogant self-obsessed moron. 

I hate arrogant self-obsessed morons.  I don't wanna be an arrogant self-obsessed moron!

'pout.'

Instead I now just sound like a whiny self-obsessed moron.  Grr.

But when I think about shoving myself into other people's blogs just in the hope that someone will notice me and read my stuff, I get all panicky and I find myself breathing really fast and the only thing I can think to do is crank some music and play another 50 rounds of spider solitaire.

It's not the rejection I'm afraid of: I've been ready for my writing to be rejected since I was 12.  (lots of people with bad taste out there, donchaknow.  :)  )  I'm okay with that part.  You don't like what I write?  Okay.  Your opinion. 

The thing I'm really afraid of is ruining someone else's day.  No, really. 

The smallest of actions can have the largest of impacts, and I'm afraid that my self-aggrandizing actions could have a seriously negative effect on someone, which leads to their having a bad morning, which leads to a bad day where they yell at their co-workers who all have a bad day who all go home and kick their dogs and are mean to their spouses and kids--etc etc etc, the cycle keeps going on.  And it's all my fault.

Wow, I just reread that and I came to the conclusion that not only am I an arrogant self-obsessed moron, I'm giving myself way too much credit.  I mean, it is possible that one of my actions could adversely effect someone which leads to a negative chain of events---but!  That also precludes the idea that no one out there is able to shrug off a bad day and control their own emotional state of mind. 

Oh, wait, I live in a very insecure society where no one is taught how to do things like that...drat it, I was feeling better for a moment--

No!  I will not give in!  As much as I might have the potential to ruin someone's life, I cannot take sole responsibility for it!  It is not my fault if they have a bad day, and their actions are a result of their behavior: not mine. 

Don't give yourself too much credit.  Don't give yourself too much credit.  The world is a wide and wondrous place.  Don't give yourself too much credit.  Don't give yourself too much credit.

This shall become my new mantra whenever I'm panicking about ruining people's lives because I made a slightly self-promoting comment somewhere.  Maybe it'll work.  :)

Thanks for listening.  I'm sorry it was such a mess, but I really needed to work through that.

The Improbable Adventures of Tabitha Anne King, Chapter 10

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Chapter 10

A New Adventure

            She didn’t really care what direction she was headed in: eventually, she knew she would turn south to make her way back home, but for now all she wanted to see was what was over the horizon that she hadn’t seen before.  A cool wind blew in her face, wisping her hair from its braid and blowing away all Tabitha’s heated emotions that had sustained her through her climactic exit of her Great-Aunt’s house.  She supposed—vaguely—that her Great-Aunt Hilsida might write to her parents and tell them that Tabitha had run off, but Tabitha didn’t much care about what might happen after that.  Her parents had shown themselves to be careless individuals when it came to their only child (sending her away to live with their most horrid relation definitely qualified in Tabitha’s mind as not caring about her at all), and their only child had decided to even the score and stop caring about how they felt about her actions.  They could call out the police for all Tabitha cared, raise a manhunt, get Great-Aunt Hilsida committed into an Asylum (Tabitha did rather like that idea), or even not do a single thing—Tabitha was content to let them do what they wished, now that she was able to do as she wished. 

            Right at that very moment, that included racing Wulafric across various wide stretches of moor and laughing terribly hard when he won every time. 

            Feeling a bit tired and more than a little thirsty, Tabitha rummaged around in her bag for the canteen of water she knew to be in there.  Taking a long swig of water she nearly choked when a loud cry not unlike a trumpet blast sounded right behind her.  Whirling quickly Tabitha scanned her eyes over the moor (which had humped itself up into a hill-like protrusion behind her) and was greatly surprised when she didn’t see anything.  She looked at Wulafric, who stared at the hill with great interest, then turned to her and cocked his head as if to say, ‘Well, there’s certainly something over there, if you wanted to know.  Shall we go see what it is?’  Tabitha smiled.  Yes, she would like to go see what it was.  Stuffing the canteen back in the sack, Tabitha hoisted it over a shoulder and sprinted up the hill with Wulafric bounding by her side (Tabitha didn’t usually mind it when Wulafric outraced her, but when going up a hill it seemed distinctly unfair).  They topped the crest of the hill and the most astonishing sight was revealed to their eyes: at the bottom of the other side of the hill, its bulk defying Tabitha’s powers of description, was a large grey elephant.

            Tabitha had never seen one in person before (her mother had attempted to take her to the zoo one day when Tabitha had been about four, but that had been the day Tabitha had broken a particularly hideous vase that her mother absolutely adored, so there was no visit to the zoo.  Although young Tabitha had wished to go to the zoo, she had realized that living without that vase was much better than going to a fun place for one day) but having read many travel journals and seen several pictures she could confidently say to herself, “That’s an elephant!”  It was a bit out of its natural habitat, but Tabitha was never one to let a thing like that diminish her excitement at seeing it.  Exchanging a look of wild delight with Wulafric she proceeded to run as fast as she could down the hill only to stop abruptly about ten feet away from the elephant, perhaps remembering that it is a bad idea to run up to a strange animal, especially one that is so very large.  It only regarded her calmly, however, and Tabitha’s courage being what it was, she very soon was patting it all over and giggling when it sniffed about her with its long trunk.  It didn’t even take too badly to Wulafric, who was quite intrigued by this, the largest animal he had ever seen that clearly wasn’t human.  They all happily went through the introductory period but Tabitha didn’t waste any time before asking it all sorts of questions such as, ‘where did you come from,’ and ‘how did you get here,’ and so on and so forth.  The elephant didn’t answer and only looked at her with its calm wise eyes. 

(If it had been inclined to answer—which is unlikely, as elephants aren’t the most chatty of creatures, certainly nothing like birds who chatter all the time, or even most dogs who just repeat everything they think five times—the elephant may have remarked that it was a bit soon to be getting into things like that, but since Tabitha was clearly a calf, a certain inquisitiveness was permissible.  And then it would have gone on to say that it really didn’t feel like saying anything yet until a better time presented itself.  Elephants are like that).

            Smiling broadly Tabitha gazed up at the elephant’s tall back and wondered, “I wonder if I could get up there,” and she pointed.  Then she sighed from the realization of the improbability of the wish, and patted the elephant three times on the shoulder as high as she could reach.  To her great astonishment, the elephant kneeled down and Tabitha realized that if she stood on its bent leg like this, and hoisted her other leg up like this, and pulled herself up like that, and there!  She was up on top of the elephant!  Tabitha patted it (rather possessively) on the shoulder, and apparently this was also the command to rise for it did rise and Tabitha now felt like a queen on top of the world she was so high up.  Down on the ground Wulafric whined a little but he stopped when Tabitha leaned over and shushed him, then reassured him.  This was a much more splendid way to travel then by foot and Tabitha meant to make the most of it.  Settling herself back on the elephant’s broad shoulders, she slapped it once on the side and the great beast lurched into motion.  Tabitha didn’t concern herself with details such as steering—she was willing to go wherever the elephant would take her.

            And so the three of them—girl, dog, and elephant—journeyed across the empty moors while the sun shone overhead, and the day was filled with laughter for it was a grand way to begin an adventure.

The Improbable Adventures of Tabitha Anne King, Chapter 9

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Chapter 9

Defiance and Departure

            Tabitha lay on the floor. 

            The house slowly quieted as the servants left it, astonished at the turn of events that had taken place that night.  None dared approach Roger the Butler and ask him the true account of why John the stable-boy had been banished from the house and grounds, for Roger stood near the door with a stern face and empty eyes (‘Like you was looking over the bottomless edge of th’ world,’ said one of the gardeners), an entirely forbidding presence that suppressed all curiosity.  His back was straight and his posture as rigid as the Butler’s Guide to Butlery proscribed, and if one didn’t notice his clothes, one would have taken him for the grandest Butler that ever lived, a truly perfect servant of his Mistress.  There were no more doubts in his heart, there was no regret for what had passed, it couldn’t even be said that there was any Roger left.  Just The Butler.  (It is a strange and sad fact that after this day, no one seemed to remember that The Butler had ever been called Roger.  This day had broken him, shattered him like the bottle of laudanum in the attic room, leaving only one surviving piece—and that was The Butler)

            All was quiet now.  It seemed appropriate to Tabitha that the echoing emptiness of her heart was mimicked by the house around her.  But although she felt empty, she was at the same time filled with the profoundest sorrow that ever touched man’s heart, a sorrow so deep and so great that it froze her limbs and forbade any movement—as if to move would break the last dam that held back the wild emotions that now lay frozen within her, as she lay frozen on the floor. 

            Cold seeped into her body, numbing her fingers and her arms, her feet and her legs, her side where it pressed against the floor, and her cheek as well.  The only part of her that still felt warm was where Wulafric curled against her, trying to comfort her the only way he knew how.  The memory of how Roger the Butler had kicked him replayed in Tabitha’s mind, and without thinking, she reached out to run her hand over Wulafric’s shoulder.  He uncurled, whining a little at the discomfort of what was sure to be a magnificent bruise, and licked her face.

            “Good dog,” she said softly.  “Good Wulafric.  Good—“ It was too much.  Tabitha threw herself over Wulafric and sobbed her heartbreak into his fur.  It had all gone so wrong, she told him between shudders.  They had never meant for it to end this way.  Destroying the laudanum had been the only thing to do, they couldn’t have left things as they were.  They just couldn’t.  And now John was gone, driven off by the man he had almost viewed as a father, a man who had become a petty tyrant.  Where would John go?  How would he live?  With no family and no references and no money (John had five copper pence, but that wouldn’t get him more than a loaf of bread) and no way to get anywhere except by walking, Tabitha knew—she knew—she couldn’t continue thinking about it and instead gave herself up to the tears that wouldn’t stop and the gasping breaths that never seemed to give her enough air.

            Months ago Tabitha had calculated the perils of running away and the likelihood of her survival.  She hadn’t given herself very long, and she knew that John might not do much better even though he was a boy and a few years older.  Death would come for him.  Tabitha tried to tell herself it wouldn’t, but she couldn’t deceive herself.  Death would come for him.  And it was all her fault. 

If only she hadn’t dropped that bottle.  If only she hadn’t asked John to join her in her quest to find the laudanum.  If only Great-Aunt Hilsida had never started drinking it.  If only her parents had never sent her here.  If only…

            If onlys are perhaps the worst sort of comfort one can give oneself.  They trap a mind in the past and blind it to all else, forcing it to live through its mistakes over and over and over again until you hate yourself and everyone around you for not stopping what has already happened.  But the past is immutable and the passage of time unable to be reversed, and no amount of wishing will ever make it otherwise.

            Tabitha did a lot of wishing, that long cold night.  No servant came to light her fire, and she made no move to the tinderbox herself.  Like their first night in this house, Tabitha and Wulafric slept on the floor, one curled around the other, choked with tears for what had been and what should be. 

            Dawn came slowly and reluctantly, guarded behind grey banks of clouds that jealously hid the light until it fell upon the land in pale patches.  Tabitha’s tear-stained face was pressed into Wulafric’s fur, both of them in the same exact position they had fallen asleep in.  When she woke, she did so all at once, jerking upright and startling Wulafric who jumped to his feet looking for something to defend his person from.  Not finding anything, he turned back to her and licked her from chin to forehead.  Tabitha didn’t seem to notice, her eyes staring wide as if in the moment before waking, something important had been decided, and she was trying to remember what it was.  She cocked her head as if listening to the memory of a dream, and then she smiled.

            This wasn’t the small slow shy smile that John the stable-boy fell in love with.  This wasn’t even the mischievous smirk that she allowed herself after a triumph (although she never allowed anyone to see it).  This smile was hard and resolute—a smile that lacks all vestiges of humor, except perhaps a macabre irony. 

            You see, somewhere between her dreams last night, Tabitha had realized that she had nothing worth caring about except Wulafric and John.  One would never leave her side, and the other was banished into the world to suffer any number of fates.  So what was left for her to care about? 

            Nothing.

            And once she realized that, Tabitha became the most dangerous, the most crafty, and the most selfish that she had ever been in her life.  For now that she cared for nothing, what was left to harm her in this place?  What was left to stay for?  A few meals a day and a dry bed were not worth the price of tip-toeing around her Great-Aunt Hilsida (and she defiantly named her in her thoughts for the first time in months) and The Butler, subject to their implacable whims and harmful desires.  John, her only friend in the world, was gone.  And she meant to follow him. 

But first—she must plan. 

Insomuch as Tabitha had now decided to run away, it would be far better to run away well-provisioned with food and other items than to leap out her bedroom window with only the clothes on her back.  But how to go about it? 

            There are very few obstacles to a truly determined mind, and Tabitha had probably the most determined mind in the past century, if not longer.  There might be some debate about this; citing of this world leader, and that dictator, of this politician, and that philanthropist, but none of these men (or women) could match Tabitha for her determination in achieving a goal.  For when Tabitha had decided something, she did it, or got it, or made it happen.  Always.  It could almost be assumed that reality itself was overawed by her and so as not to upset her, made sure things always went her way. 

Tabitha was not to be trifled with.  Especially not now.

            Poor maid who had the unfortunate privilege of bringing up Tabitha’s breakfast (with a few extra sausages for Wulafric, courtesy of the cook).  She was expecting the girl either to be asleep, or else so overwhelmed by the situation that she was sitting numb as a post.  Tabitha was neither. 

            The maid entered the room quietly enough and even had a sympathetic smile ready for strategic use should Tabitha so need it—but that was not to be.  She was instead greeted by the sight of Tabitha sitting upright and fully clothed on the edge of her bed, Wulafric crouched by her feet.

            “Coward that he is, I suppose the Butler could not bring himself to face me in the morning’s light?”  (the maid could only stare at her and make confused noises).  “Since it is you at my door instead of him, I am indubitably correct in labeling him such, and must proceed to plan number two.”  Tabitha took a deep breath before continuing: the maid felt like backing up a step and had no idea why (although she was about to find out). 

“I have found the Butler to be lacking in all common decency and it is no surprise that he should be ashamed of his egregious behavior last night—but where I am most surprised is that he dared to do it in the first place.  In overstepping his bounds he has demonstrated a very low sort of behavior that only marks the very worst of society.  His callous treatment of you—his fellow servants and John in particular—reveals a fundamentally flawed mind that cannot be allowed to make any more mischief in my Great-Aunt Hilsida’s home.” The maid flinched at her name.  Tabitha did not.

            “You will now go tell him that I order him to come to me this instant, and only a swift obedience will perhaps ameliorate his inevitable punishment and dismissal.”

            The maid was absolutely speechless.  She didn’t know anything about these matters (or half of the words coming out of Tabitha’s mouth) and in a flustered state she bobbed a terrible curtsey and left to find The Butler, forgetting to lock the door behind her. 

Tabitha wasted no time in marching out of her room and making for the front stairway and Great-Aunt Hilsida’s parlor.  Wulafric followed faithfully, although he had cast one mournful look back at the sausages on the breakfast tray.  They boldly strode down the halls, drawing astonished looks from the servants scurrying back and forth—an unusual sight, really, as none of the servants had had to scurry in an awfully long time, not since she had been her normal self—cleaning this and cleaning that, all ordered about by The Butler as if he was expecting a parade of high class visitors to come through the front door at any moment and would be disgusted by the state of the house.  Used to a life of semi-indolence, none of the servants took well to being ordered about again at high speeds, but none of them dared to go against The Butler. 

They all knew Tabitha had been confined to her room—although not why—and seeing her walking the halls without a care stirred strange emotions in their hearts that defied description.  She walked like a queen through a palace, followed by her faithful hound, and deserving of all courtesies.  But since their bows were rusty and their curtseys disgraceful, they merely stared at her until she passed, and then whispered amongst themselves about what this might mean.  Life had changed so much in the past day that no one had any idea of what to think, and this was a crowning cherry. 

            Tabitha did stop one of the maids and gave her instructions in a low voice, and although she might have wanted to object, the maid was given no choice and she hurried off to do as Tabitha asked. 

            But Tabitha was not to proceed entirely unimpeded.  Before reaching the parlor she was confronted with the sight of The Butler, rising up from the kitchen stairs like a vengeful demon out of hell who sees its prey standing before it and is supremely confident that it is more than adequate to the task of handling it.  And last night, he had been.  But last night he had been more, and Tabitha had been less.  Today, Tabitha was more, but The Butler did not know it yet. 

            (To be completely honest—as it is always best to be—The Butler actually looked quite magnificent.  From somewhere about his belongings he had rescued an old but finely cut suit of clothes that he must have worn in the hey-day of the house.  They had been cleaned and ironed and starched until they shone in the reflected glory of by-gone days.  The Butler had trimmed his hair and shaved his chin—during a very lengthy and thorough bath—and now he stood resplendent as he was always meant to be, as any Butler should be, except for the troubling lack of anything resembling human mercy behind his eyes.)

            “Out of your room?  I had thought I had made myself clear.  You are not to leave your room, you are not to do anything I do not tell you to do, and if you do not obey me, I will have you tied to your bed at all hours.”  It was a truly intimidating speech, more so as he advanced upon Tabitha with every moment.  But it failed to hit its mark.  Wulafric stepped between the two, half crouched and growling low in his throat as he stared down The Butler.  The Butler stopped, as most men will when confronted by an angry dog.  Tabitha merely smiled a cool smile at him (this one said that she thought him entirely disagreeable and very much beneath her notice, as he was only a servant, and therefore must do exactly as she said), very much undeterred by his harsh words.

            “Your restrictions are intolerable, Butler, and your manners lacking.  You have taken too much upon yourself as a servant of this household, and therefore must be reprimanded.  You have no authority over me, Butler, you never have, and you never will.  Too long have you run this household with impunity, but that is sure to end today.  I am going to my Great-Aunt’s parlor, and—if she is not there—when you find her, please tell her I wish to speak to her about a great many things.  Including your general unkemptness, your lack of dedication to your duties, and your upstart manner which is most unbecoming.  That is all.”  Tabitha walked past him, Wulafric still keeping a wary barrier in-between the two.  The Butler had been swelling with indignation for the entirety of her speech, but lacking an appropriate moment to insert his own ire he was forced to swallow it instead. 

This is really the best way to deal with someone who believes they can overpower you.  Don’t give them a moment to gather steam, don’t linger if at all possible, and act as if you have all the power in the world.  Those who act as if they have power, will be perceived to have it.

Tabitha entered the parlor, found it empty, and settled into the chair her Great-Aunt favored.  The maid she had talked to in the hall brought down her breakfast tray and both she and Wulafric enjoyed their meal for quite some time before they were disturbed.  It was The Butler who entered first, announcing his Mistress as if this was a grand occasion of state:

            “My Lady Hilsida of Despart.”         

            At the moment, however, she looked like nothing so much as a ditch digger (remember, all last night she had been digging in the cellar trying to find the gnomes that lived there).  Her clothes were dirt stained and all her visible skin was filthy.  She stumped along behind her cane as if there was nothing so important as making as much noise as possible, but when she caught sight of Tabitha in her chair she stood stock still, shocked to her core.

            “Get out of my chair, girl.”

            Tabitha cocked her head in polite confusion.  Great-Aunt Hilsida repeated herself, assured that repeating the phrase again and in a louder tone would bring results.  (there are many people in the world who live by this rule, and it is astonishing how many other people give in to them.  Does repeating oneself in a louder voice really change the argument?  Does the fellow arguer go ‘Aha, I see your point now that you are shouting very loudly after repeating yourself ten times.  I will concede the issue.”  It must be a wish to avoid violent confrontations that causes a person to give in to this tactic.  But Tabitha had no such wish).

            “Get out of my chair, girl!  Out of my chair!  Out of my chair this instant!”

            “What, this chair?”

            Great-Aunt Hilsida nearly solved many problems by having an apoplexy.  Her face flushed a lobster red and her veins were pulsing in her forehead.  But it was not to be.  Nearly speechless with rage, she still managed to spew a series of swear-words that made The Butler do his best imitation of a deaf stone.  Tabitha merely filed them away for future reference.

            “Now, Great-Aunt Hilsida, it is entirely proper that I have this chair at the moment.  For one, I entered the room first.  For two, you have forfeited the rights that age and relation and infirmity have bestowed upon you.  And for three, I feel the need to annoy you.  So no, I will not get up from this chair, and if you wish to sit, I suggest that The Butler get you a stool.”  Tabitha was watching her Great-Aunt intently.  Many things depended on this conversation and Tabitha wanted to make sure it went where she wanted it to. 

            Great-Aunt Hilsida swelled with anger and her mouth moved for a few moments before sound came out.  “You ungrateful horrible wretch of a dissolute child.  You sit in my chair, in my house, after months of eating my food and think you can give me orders?”  She swooped forward toward Tabitha and tried to grab her arm and haul her up out of the chair but Wulafric bounded to his feet and growled at her.  Great-Aunt Hilsida was suddenly across the room clutching at the wallpaper (a rather faded blue rose with green stripes, it tore beneath her fingers and made a bare patch that looked awfully like a palm tree, although only Tabitha would have recognized it as such, given her love of foreign botany.  Everyone else thought it looked like a dandelion).  She hadn’t noticed the dog before and having it jump up and growl had the same effect on her as if he had tried to tear out her throat.  Not that Wulafric did any such thing, but when someone is afraid of a dog, even innocuous actions appear sinister, and Wulafric certainly did not appear innocuous.  He had grown much since he was a tiny puppy, and although he could not be called full grown, he was fully as large as some dogs, and larger than most.  His shaggy hair had turned a dark grey with brushed silver tips, and when angry he was a thoroughly intimidating sight.

            “Get that—you can’t—get it away from me—why—“

            “Be calm, Great-Aunt.  You’ll frighten Wulafric, and I really don’t think you want to upset him.  Please, have a seat.”  The Butler helped her into a small chair near the door.  Tabitha and Wulafric were at least six feet away but Hilsida showed every evidence of desiring them to be miles away. 

            “Butler, I think this discussion would go better with tea.  Please have Cook send some up.”  Tabitha ordered the Butler.  Forced by his nature and the situation, The Butler bowed and left the room.  Tabitha thought it best to wait in silence for the next move of the board, letting her Great-Aunt suffer just a bit longer before springing the rest of it on her.  The Butler returned with a tray and served Great-Aunt Hilsida her tea before setting it conveniently out of reach of Tabitha.  She smiled inwardly to herself.  She hadn’t really wanted tea anyway, not for herself.  She watch closely as her Great-Aunt tried to discreetly unscrew a bottle and dump the contents into her tea, but before she could pour more than a drop, Tabitha interrupted her.

            “I would really be more sparing of that if I were you.”  Great-Aunt Hilsida looked up suspiciously.  “There really isn’t that much left,” Tabitha continued helpfully.  Still no sign of understanding.  “Oh dear.  Has The Butler not told you?  That—my much afflicted Great-Aunt—is the very last of your laudanum to be found on the premises.  Last night your entire stock was destroyed—poured out onto the ground.  Really, Butler,” Tabitha chided as her Great-Aunt struggled with the concept of what she had been told, “You should keep your mistress apprised of these things.  Imagine what would have happened when she used up that bottle and had to be told that there was no more laudanum.”  At long last the idea penetrated.

            “What—you!”

            “Yes,” Tabitha said calmly.  “Me.  I did have a little help but your ever-faithful servant threw him out without a penny to his name and no chance to say goodbye, a very large mistake you see, as it has made me very angry.”

            “You, angry?  Angry?  Angry?  You poxy-ridden trollop, you sap-skulled fornicating pig—“

            “Yes, I am angry!  I’ve been angry ever since I was sent by my parents to live here with you, although I highly doubt they know about the treatment I have suffered through while here.  You neglect your duties, you ruin your house and lands, you beat your servants if you find them in the house after dark—you nearly beat me if not for a stout wooden door—you dig in the cellar for gnomes and smash all the furniture so it can’t kill you, and why?”  Tabitha fixed her gaze on the bottle clutched in Great-Aunt Hilsida’s hands.

            “Why, I do believe it is because of that poison you are holding so close to your heart.  It has poisoned your mind and seeped its unhealthy influence all over this benighted and bedeviled place.  The townspeople won’t come within a mile of this place, did you know?  The shepherds as well.  The night I was dropped at your doorstep the coachman wasted no time in hustling himself away and at the time I didn’t understand but now I do, oh yes, now I understand many things, my deluded Great-Aunt.  You think that bottle will help you, that it keeps the nightmares at bay.  Well, wake up!” 

Tabitha rose from the chair, Wulafric staying by her side, slowly approaching the cowering figure of Great-Aunt Hilsida.  “You have been asleep, and your nightmare has been ruling in your stead.  Look around you—see for the first time in who knows how long what you have done to yourself and your servants.  Because Great-Aunt?  I think you will find me a worse enemy than that laudanum has ever been your friend.”

            And this was the moment Tabitha had been waiting for, the moment when her Great-Aunt’s mind was full of chaos and shadows, the moment when she would be most vulnerable, the moment when Tabitha could force her to her will.

            And her will was fear.

            Tabitha dropped her hand to Wulafric’s back, and he let out such a howl that Great-Aunt Hilsida shrieked in terror, jumped three feet up in the air and whisked herself out of the parlor door so quickly her feet never touched the floor. 

(It took five days for the servants to find her.  The search would have gone much faster if the locals had been willing to form search parties, but strangely enough, the thought of coming across Hilsida at any time of day on an empty moor did not appeal to anyone.  It was only because The Butler bullied the servants into searching that they did so, and it was poor Ustin again who found her, crawling along the moor like a dumb beast, unable to walk yet unable to remain still.  She hadn’t slept in those five days, constantly moving away from that originating howl of Wulafric’s, convinced that it was following her.  In fact, she never slept easily again for the rest of her life, and even in the daytime would often start and turn around to look for the dog she knew was coming for her.  She once confided to The Butler that she had known ever since her injury that a dog had been released from Hell to find her and kill her, whereupon originated her fear of them.  She was, however, mistaken as to the cause of her death.  She lived for three years after Tabitha left her house, and when out walking one day a bird dropped a poisonous snake on her head, which then bit her.  It is safe to say she never saw it coming).

            The Butler struggled between chastising Tabitha and running after his Mistress to see that she was all right, and his indecision resulted in the five day disappearance of Great-Aunt Hilsida, who left the house at a run and didn’t stop until she collapsed from exhaustion.  He did eventually decide to chase after Great-Aunt Hilsida (after making awful faces at Tabitha that would have gotten him expelled from the Butler’s School for Butlery—an off-shoot of the Butler’s Guide to Butlery—and attempting to say words that his nature would not allow, thereby closing his throat and giving him the appearance of an angry plum) allowing Tabitha to move on to part two of her plan.

            Unsure of how long she had until The Butler and Great-Aunt Hilsida returned, Tabitha went to the stables where her satchel awaited her (she had packed it with everything she thought she would need last night—mostly books—and this morning while talking to the maid about her breakfast she had also ordered her to take the satchel to the stables).  Tabitha then went up into the loft to gather a few of her books that had taken up permanent residence there, and once there found it hard to tear herself away from a room where she had been so happy.  There were so many memories tucked into that little loft, all the more sweet because they were shared memories, even if the one they were shared with had disappeared without a trace.  Tabitha’s roving eye fell on a cap of John’s that he had left behind in his confused escape.  She picked it up and stowed it in her satchel with unwarranted tenderness for the baseness of the object, though fully justified when taking her love for John into consideration. 

Then, deciding that it was safe enough, Tabitha made for the kitchen and asked the cook very politely for a sack of food that would keep well for traveling on.  The cook (just as politely, for she had always liked Tabitha and Wulafric and besides, who would go against this girl who had just overthrown both her and The Butler?) packed everything Tabitha could have wished, including a large amount of sausages for Wulafric and even a hot berry pie that had just finished baking.  Thanking the cook, Tabitha hoisted the bag over one shoulder and left the house, never to return. 

Chapter 10

The Improbable Adventures of Tabitha Anne King, Chapter 8

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Chapter 8

And More Trouble

John was in a very difficult position.  Tabitha had promised to follow his lead, to go with his plan, only—he didn’t have a plan.  Even worse, he had no idea how to go about getting a plan.  For all John knew plans just popped out of thin air waving their arms frantically shouting ‘notice me, notice me!’ 

Or maybe there were plan-makers and plan-followers, and he wasn’t the former.  (his previous surety that he was intelligent enough to think up a way around the problem facing him was fast fading away into the uncertainty pit that took up most of his stomach).  He knew Tabitha would help—of course she would—but he had enough pride to want to do it himself.  Somehow. 

They both managed to sneak out of the house without attracting her attention before returning to the stables and his loft, where John then spent a sleepless night in which his mind wandered the corridors of the house trying desperately to find a solution to this problem.  He found no answers before dawn, and decided to slip out for a walk before Tabitha awoke.  The moors were grey and dim when he opened the stable doors, there was a chill wind wending its way across the moors moving westward, away from the sea.  John had never seen the ocean, but from what people had said and the books Tabitha had made him read, it seemed like the most awesome thing in the world, marvelous to behold.  He inhaled the wind deeply—thinking, maybe…but there was no salt taste in the air.  There never had been before, and it was only his imagination that made him wish he could smell it now. 

He was facing east when the first ray of sunlight peeked over the horizon, glowing a golden path to his feet and beyond.  The moors were no longer grey and intimidating but a fantastic rise and swell of golden grasses swaying in the wind.  Other people may think the landscape bleak and harsh with an intimidating nature, but John knew it for what it was: a yearning grandeur.  He gave the smallest of happy sighs and began trudging around the house, searching for a solution in motion as most seem to do and have done and will do throughout time.  His footsteps brought him no nearer to a solution, although in a way they did.  For as he wandered around the outside of the house his eyes idly skipped from window to window naming the rooms behind them (it was a rather large house with lots of rooms and therefore lots of windows to them, but John had lived around this house nearly his entire life so the challenge was not as great as it may seem).  Tabitha’s room, the destroyed blue room, the green tapestry room, the gold room, a hallway window, the red room—

For the first time in his life John realized that there was another window, right above the red room.  It was small and oddly shaped, easily missed under the eaves of the house, except from the angle John was staring at it.  The roof was slightly peaked at that point, as it was at others, but John had never given thought to any attics in the house.  No one had ever mentioned them before, and if there was one benefit about living with servants it was that any room in a house is sure to be mentioned sooner or later, unless none of the servants but close-mouthed Roger know about it.  An unused attic room—right above where Roger had entered that door last night.  That door must lead to a staircase which climbed to that room…the laudanum must be there in that small attic.  But was it reachable by any means other than that door? 

Oh, his head hurt with all the thoughts he was forcing to race through it at fantastic speeds, considering and discarding more plans in one moment than he had ever thought of in a lifetime.  He pressed his hands to his temples as if the immense pressure squeezing his brain would act as a catalyst and crystallize the thoughts within. 

Amazingly enough, it did.

John was shocked, really.  It was a plan, and it was his.  There was nothing safe about it, nothing safe at all, but it was his plan and he knew it could work.  He jumped into the air and punched it a few times in his satisfaction (it is a little known fact that air does indeed mind being punched.  It’s always left wondering vaguely what it did this time to deserve it) and then proceeded to run full tilt back to the stables and pounce on Tabitha’s bed to wake her up.  She came awake all of an instant (as did Wulafric who thought this was an opportune time for a three way wrestling match, made difficult by the size of the bed being much smaller than all three involved) and stared up at John who was grinning down at her in a reckless carefree manner that would one day mark him out as the most dangerous of men. 

“I’ve got an idea Tabitha, but I need to know something first.”

“What?”

“How’s your head for heights?”

“Fine, I think.  Why?”

“Tell you later?”  He grinned down at her, his obvious happiness causing her to grin back.

“All right.”  Tabitha managed to say past the large grin that was taking up most of the space.  “What’s first?”

“Breakfast.  I’m starving.”

And that was all he’d say.  Tabitha tried to pester him but they soon descended the ladder and she could say no more in front of the rest of the servants.  They ate a large breakfast in the house kitchens (honey biscuits and scrambled eggs and fresh sausages) before going to Tabitha’s room on the second floor where John revealed what he had discovered that morning about the attic room that no one knew about.  Tabitha was very properly amazed and admiring of John’s deductive reasoning skills and told him so.  His smile at this was much less reckless and much more pleased, as Tabitha only gave compliments out when she meant them.  (she had given him four so far, and he treasured each and every one of them.  The first had been given when she admired how fast he could get all his chores done and still have almost all of the day left for anything he pleased.  The second compliment had been for his incredible skill at picking up on the accents of both French and German.  The third had been for his strong grip which kept her from tumbling headfirst into an unexpected cleft filled with boulders, the fourth had been for his surprisingly good singing voice, and this one made the fifth).  He then went on to explain the difficulties involved in getting to the attic room, and how there was really only one option open to them. 

“What is it then?”

“If we can’t get into the room from below, we’ll have to get into it from above.”

Tabitha had the same ‘aha!’ moment that had occurred to John.  “The roofs!”

“We’ll have to go over the roof and try to open the window from the outside.  It doesn’t look that big, but I think both of us can fit through.  We’ll need some rope, though, to tie to a chimney to make sure we don’t fall.”

“Good.  I don’t especially like the idea of falling.”

“Neither do I.”

They smiled at each other.

“I think your plan will work,” Tabitha said.

“And I won’t have to steal the keys from Roger.”

“You’re right.  You found a way to do it without stealing anything, it’s a good plan.  When should we go?”

“Tonight.  Today we’ll find a way onto the roof, and we’ll go up right after she has her tea.  She’ll never see us, and neither will anyone else.  I’ll go find us some rope, and you go find us a way up to the roof.”

They both nodded solemnly, shook hands, and parted ways. 

It took longer for Tabitha to find a way up to the roof than it did for John to find some rope, but he joined her in her search and they eventually found an appropriate window that had a wide ledge of roof right under it that made for easy access to the rest of the roofs.  They then waited in Tabitha’s room for the light to dim and all the servants to leave the house.  They both were extremely bored but neither wished to be anywhere else.  John amused himself for a while by wrestling with Wulafric, but Wulafric had reached such a size that nearly any match ended with Wulafric sitting happily on top of his opponent, licking his face.  Tabitha watched for a while but lost interest and instead tried to concentrate on a book of flora and fauna of the Gobi desert. 

Time passed slowly, but it did pass, and eventually John and Tabitha left the room, reluctantly shutting Wulafric in as he could not be expected to climb the roofs with them and then dangle by a rope into a small window.  He made piteous whining noises and a loud whuffing noise that was almost a bark, but he kept quiet, only looking at them mournfully as they shut the door on him.

The window with access to the roof was in the blue tapestry room, high up on the wall opposite from the outside of the house, reachable only by standing on a chair on top of a desk, and pulling oneself through the narrow casement.  Tabitha was first, finding the fit tight but manageable, while John was next, although there was a false start when he realized that he should pass the rope through first as he couldn’t fit with it slung around him.  His was a tighter squeeze than Tabitha’s, but she pulled on his arms and he wiggled his legs and soon they both fell onto the roof.  The sun was still relatively high and it would be several more hours before it was dark enough to proceed, but John declared that they should find the appropriate window now, rather than wait till dark, as it would be much more difficult then. 

Now they ran into a slight problem.  On top of the roofs, all rooms looked the same, and without the windows to guide him, John was unsure of where to start.  But Tabitha closed her eyes and told him in no uncertain terms that the red room was 10 paces to the left, and 10 forward—and since the attic window was right above the red room, that was where they needed to be.  Not quite willing to believe that she was correct, John nevertheless followed her instructions and carefully peered over the edge of the roof (after making sure no one was looking up) to find the window in question.  To his great surprise, it was only a few feet away from where he lay.  Tabitha merely smiled her small smile (although this time John thought he could detect a hint of smug satisfaction in it).  He got up and tied one end of the rope around a nearby chimney, checking to make sure the chimney was in good enough condition to hold it (fortunately it was, although a bird objected to his getting so close to its nest).  He lay the rope down next to the chimney and he and Tabitha settled in again to wait.  The increasing chill caused the two to lean together for warmth, with John’s arm tucked tight around Tabitha’s shoulders (for her warmth, of course) and she nestled into him (for his warmth, of course).

And let no man disparage them for being too young for what they felt for each other, for love is not convenient and does not wait for the best time when one has the greatest use for it or ability to appreciate it.  John had loved Tabitha for some time, but it was only recently that Tabitha had started to love John.  Love did not come easily to her, understand, as she had never experienced much of it.  Yes she had been cared for, cared for very much, but loved?  John had been lucky enough to have been loved—even briefly—far more than Tabitha had ever been loved by her parents.  Tabitha had found it easier to look at the world through cool eyes and with a calm head, as there was no pain to be found in it.  But now, sitting on a rooftop with John, realizing the scope of their planned adventure, Tabitha felt the first stirrings of worry for another person.  They might have been small, but to a person who had never worried for someone else, they felt like mallets to her heart. 

“John?”

“Yes Tabitha?”

“Will this be all right?”

John was astonished.  Tabitha was always so sure, so certain of everything.  Until this moment he would have sworn that Tabitha had never doubted herself in her life, and would never doubt herself for the rest of her life.  But he managed to find his voice to reassure her, “Of—of course it will.  We’ll get in, destroy the laudanum, and everything will be back to the way it was.  You’ll see.  I mean, I don’t really remember what it was like before, but the servants all tell stories about how it was, about the way the house looked and, and everything.  It’ll be much much better than it is now!  Couldn’t really get any worse.”

They both snorted at that.

“John?”

“Yes Tabitha?”

“I don’t like being worried.”

“I don’t think anyone does.  It just happens.”

“It never happened to me before.”  She grumbled a bit.

“What are you so worried about?”  John tried to close his mouth on the last word as if to take it back, but it was already said.  He waited anxiously for Tabitha to speak, afraid of what she would say, and afraid that she wouldn’t say anything.  There was a long pause during which John’s heart pounded and he could scarcely breathe for fear.

“I—I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

John nearly passed out in relief.  “Nothing bad is going to happen to me.”

“Yes, I know that, but—but,” Tabitha struggled to find the words to express what she was feeling—another first.  “But I’m still worried.”

John tightened his arms around her.  “I don’t want anything to happen to you either, Tabitha.”

So as they sat there on the roof they started talking to one another as they had never talked before.  They said nothing of games and frolics with Wulafric, or of swimming in the millpond or even her antics, but they started telling each other secrets they had never told anyone else.  Thoughts of the future, and the past.  They bared their souls to each other as the sun set to their faces, and it seemed to them that it would be better if the sun never set at all, if it could just stay in the sky where it was and let this twilight never end. 

The sun set, as it always must, and Tabitha and John made ready to continue with their plan, as there were no more options and no desire to delay the finish of it.  All the world was dark except for a faint light shining from a couple of rooms in the house, as well as the stable.  Blessed with good night vision, both the children crept to the edge of the roof again to verify the position of the window.

“I should go first,” said John. 

Tabitha didn’t agree.  “You might be too heavy for the chimney, or too large for that window.  I’m a better choice.  I should go first.”

“Tabitha, please.  Let me go first.  The window will be large enough for me, and if the chimney holds, then it’ll be safe enough for you.  I just couldn’t bear it if you got hurt.  I want to keep you safe—”

“Keep me safe?”

“That—that’s not what I meant.  I just—“ he took a deep breath, and realized that there was no good way to tell Tabitha that he wanted to do this for her own good.  So John took the easy way out.  “It’s my plan.  I should be the one to do it.”

There was very little Tabitha could argue against that.  Hadn’t she used the same logic many times herself?  So she stopped arguing and tried to pretend that everything would be just fine.  John got a good grip on the rope and prepared to step off the roof but before he could, Tabitha tugged him back and tied one end of the rope around his waist to keep the worst from happening.  He hugged her close, then let her go with a flush of embarrassment, hiding it behind a reckless smile as he lowered himself over the edge and down off the roof.  Tabitha was crouching on her knees with her arms well braced, leaning over the edge, watching his careful progress as he let out the rope bit by bit.  It didn’t take long for him to reach the window, and carefully wrapping the rope around one arm, he used the other to fetch a knife from his pocket to ease open the window latch and swing it open.  He looked up at Tabitha smiling his success, then let out a bit more rope to swing into the room.  A half a minute passed in which Tabitha could not see him, then he appeared at the window and motioned for her to take up the rope.  It was her turn.

Now, Tabitha was not afraid of heights (as she had gratefully discovered) but it was still a matter of difficulty to lower herself off the roof without anything supporting her feet.  She clutched her courage close to herself and whipped the fear into a tiny corner where it couldn’t do anything buy wince, and then let go of the roof.  She dropped a few feet before she could tighten her grip on the rope, her breath coming very fast in and out of her lungs, but she carefully, ever so carefully kept lowering herself, and it wasn’t too long before she felt a hand on her ankle, guiding her into the attic room where John was waiting to help her.  Soon his hands were at her waist and he lifted her off the rope and set her feet on the floor.  They had both made it.

The interior of the room wasn’t very large, and it had a peculiar slope to one side that corresponded with the roof above.  There isn’t much you could say about the room: except for the five large crates of laudanum taking up one corner.  John and Tabitha could scarce believe their eyes.  They had been expecting one or two crates, but five?  They realized with trepidation that that was a lot of laudanum to dispose of. 

Happily, Tabitha was not without a plan for more than a few seconds.  But since this was supposed to be John’s endeavor, she at least tried to introduce the idea diplomatically.

“How do you want to get rid of them all?”

John’s face was rather blank.  “To be honest, I never thought ahead that far.”  He gave an incredulous laugh.  “What do you think?  That’s a lot of bottles…”

“Yes.” Tabitha also laughed.  “I—have an idea of what we could do—“

“Spit it out then, I’m fresh out.”

“Well, I had given thought to just smashing them, but—“

“The noise—“

“Yes, and there are so many…and they’d leak dreadfully and be noticed right away, so why don’t we pour them out the window and then put them back?” she finished in a rush.

John liked this idea.  It had the benefits of being both easy and fitting.  “Good plan.  Let’s go, then.”

They dismantled the boxes one by one and poured each bottle out the window, grateful that there was no one below to wonder at the sudden shower of liquid from above.  One by one by one by one the bottles were emptied until there were only a few left (for many years afterward the particular patch of ground below this window proved troublesome to the gardeners.  It refused to grow much of anything, even weeds, no matter how much manure and new dirt was place on top.  The only thing it did grow was an odd prickly bush with green berries that caused anyone who ate them to have an immediate desire to lie on their back and watch the sky change colors.  One memorable summer saw three ferrets, one dog, five wrens, and one undergardener all lying together looking at the sky change from fuchsia to mahogany, to red, and a strange tinted gold).  On his way to the window John surreptitiously sniffed at an uncorked bottle.

“John!”  Tabitha was outraged.

“I was just smelling it!  Smells awful.” He added in an undertone.  (then as his back was turned to the room Tabitha also sniffed at an open bottle, recoiling at the odor). 

And although their plan had worked flawlessly until that moment, fate had other plans for these two intrepid explorers and destroyers.  As Tabitha was crossing the floor to empty one of the last bottles, she tripped, and the bottle went flying to smash against the floor.  They both froze. 

“D’you think anybody heard that?” John whispered.

“Shhhh!”

As if from far away they heard an approaching sound, one which both of them quickly interpreted to be Roger the Butler shuffle-stepping his way up the stairs.  Their eyes were wide as they stared at each other for the barest moment before—

“Hurry!” Tabitha whispered loudly.  John raced for the rope, and looked back to see Tabitha carrying the rest of the bottles over to the window. 

“No time for that!” he cried urgently, but she shook her head and started pulling corks as fast as she could.

“We have to finish.  You go up the rope first, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“You don’t have a minute, Tabitha!”  But John wouldn’t abandon her.  He grabbed a bottle from her hands, in his haste spilling as much of the liquid on himself and her as out the window. 

Roger’s steps were much nearer.  Frantic with urgency, John insisted that Tabitha go up the rope first.  She tried to argue but he would hear none of it.  He hoisted her up as high as he could reach and she scrambled like a monkey up the rope.  John wasted no time in following her, pulling the window shut after himself and tucking his legs up out of sight just as Roger the Butler entered the attic room. 

Now, as both Tabitha and John were in no condition to say what exactly happened in that room, your curiosity must be assuaged as to what Roger the Butler saw: nothing.  At least, at first.  Thinking that his brain had manufactured an idle fancy of a sound, he was preparing to leave when he noticed a certain smell in the air.  Thinking to himself that a bottle must have leaked, he went over to the boxes and immediately noticed their state of disarray (it might have been the children’s intention to leave the boxes looking like they found them, but they certainly looked gone through at the moment).  Roger the Butler then went over to the window where he noticed the one shattered bottle and the other empties scattered nearby. 

He inhaled very sharply at this moment, for the idea of what might have happened came to him, but in order to make absolutely sure this idea was true, he went through every single box and discovered the same thing: each bottle was empty. 

Now, it must be said that while Roger’s greater part was taken up with horror at the theft/destruction of all of Mistress Hilsida’s laudanum, there was a small honest part that wondered if this might not be a good thing.  But Roger the Butler had been following his sense of duty for so long that he would not allow himself to dwell on that honest thought for more than a half-second, and even that was too long. 

Poor Roger.  His duty was very stern in this instance.  Someone had either stolen or destroyed (destroyed being the most likely) her entire laudanum store.  There was only the one bottle left which he had taken out that afternoon—and that wouldn’t last more than a week—and it would take at least two for any more laudanum to be shipped up.  There was no way he could avoid telling Mistress Hilsida, and she would likely be irrational and incoherent with rage for some time.  He could only put off telling her until tomorrow, and pray that she was in a state of mind to understand. 

What he must do now, however, was very clear.  He must rouse all the servants—check to see that no one was missing—and have them all search the house for the way the thief (although the term wasn’t strictly accurate, the ‘destroyer’ was a bit melodramatic for Roger) had entered the locked room. 

Roger did wonder if someone had picked the lock, but that was such a fanciful thought more befitting the pages of a lurid gothic tale that he immediately dismissed it.  There was only two other ways, either the thief had stolen his keys (which he hadn’t, as Roger still had them), made a copy of them (unlikely, but possible), or had entered the only other way possible: the window.  (that actually made three ways, but Roger wasn’t too concerned with proper math skills at the moment).  Roger the Butler walked to the window and found it unlatched, although pushed closed.  He opened it and stuck his head through, looking all around but seeing nothing of note.  He firmly latched the window and left the room to waken the other servants.

All this time Tabitha and John huddled on the roof above the room, not daring to move for fear of making any noise which would alert Roger to their presence above him.  They heard his walking back and forth across the room, and they could guess what he was seeing, but they had no idea of his thoughts.  If they had, things might have turned out differently, but they didn’t, so they didn’t. 

Even after Roger left the attic room they still sat on the roof, unsure of when to move for the lingering fear that he may hear them.  But eventually their shivers of cold became too much and John knew they had to leave now, or else their cold-stiffened bodies might not make a safe return by the way they came.  It was very difficult clambering down from the window back onto the chair and off the chair onto the desk, and off the desk onto the floor.  John went first to secure the way for Tabitha, and it was a good thing he did, as she slipped coming off the chair and would have hurt herself and made a very noticeable noise if she had hit the floor, but he was able to catch her in time. 

They cracked the door to the blue tapestry room and listened with their hearts in their mouths for any noise, but they heard nothing (Roger the Butler was still out of the house rousing the servants, but there wasn’t much time before he reentered the house with them all, despite their fears of her walking the halls).  They crept like timid mice back to Tabitha’s room where they shut the door and locked it, relieved at reaching a point of safety.  Wulafric was overjoyed to see them, although he whined at the smell of the laudanum that had spilled on them both.  After comforting him for a moment, Tabitha spoke.

“Oh, John, I’m so sorry, I’m so very sorry.  If I hadn’t dropped that bottle—“

He took her in his arms and held her tight.  “Don’t worry about it, Tabitha.  Roger knows that all the laudanum is gone, but he doesn’t know who did it.  We’re fine.  There’s nothing to worry about.”

It would be the nicest thing in the world if we could believe John, as Tabitha did—that it was all finally over, that nothing was going to happen even though their plan had been discovered a little earlier than they liked.  It would be a wonderful thing to say that this was the last they ever thought about the laudanum and Great-Aunt Hilsida and tricking Roger the Butler. 

It would be a wonderful thing indeed, but it would not be a true thing. 

At this moment Roger the Butler had discovered that John was not in his loft and none of the servants had seen him for a while.  This was not cause for immediate concern, as Tabitha was also not in the loft and on occasion the two of them had spent a night in her room, although that was a rare occasion.  Roger the Butler now put the second part of his plan into action, chivvying the servants until they entered the darkened house with lamps and started to search every room, each servant hoping desperately not to discover where she was. 

The honor of that discovery actually goes to Ustin—whose name should have been Justin, but had been written down wrong at his birth and then never corrected—one of the remaining footmen who found her in the cellar digging a hole through the floor in an effort to find the gnomes that were living there.  Poor Ustin was co-opted into digging for her and was unable to return to the search for many hours. 

The servants searched every room on the bottom floor with Roger the Butler standing guard on the main exit—with the Cook at the kitchen entrance—to keep the possible thief/destroyer from escaping.  When the search of the lower level was completed, Roger moved the search upstairs, insisting that every room be checked thoroughly.  There was some commotion when the piled chair and desk were discovered in the blue tapestry room—along with the window that Tabitha had forgotten to close when coming down—and Roger the Butler felt vindicated that here was extra proof that someone had broken into the attic room, and had in fact come over the roof and through the only truly possible means of entry: the window.  But there was something that troubled him about the chair placed on top of the desk.  A regular sized man or even a woman would not require the added height of the chair to reach the upper window, and would in fact be able to climb through it without much difficulty. 

Now, Roger the Butler could not be called a great thinker, and had in recent years striven mightily not to think of much at all, in order to blind himself to the reality in which he lived.  But the shock of the destruction of the laudanum had woken him up and now all sorts of wheels and doors and passages in his head were turning and opening up and providing direct paths to thoughts he would much rather not think.  For what that chair indicated Roger did not want to think about—only he had a sneaking fear of what it meant, and he did not like it at all. 

Eventually every room had been searched on that floor as well: except for Tabitha’s locked room.  Roger the Butler found himself in front of it, trying to master the shaking in his right hand as he raised it to gently knock on the door.  There was a scuffling noise beyond it, and he knew someone was in there.  He knocked again, accompanying it with a terse, “Tabitha, open up.  I need to talk to you.”  There was more scuffling and some faint whispers that indicated to Roger that John was indeed in there as well.  He heard the lock click and stepped back as the door opened.  Both Tabitha and John were at the door, staring up at him.  Must I go through with this?  Roger thought desperately.  Must I do this?  But his duty stomped over his conflicted interests until only one remained. 

“There was a problem tonight.  Someone broke in and destroyed something that belonged to Mistress Hilsida.  Did you hear anything?”  Roger was watching closely and although Tabitha’s expression of worried curiosity didn’t even flicker, John’s eyes had a guilty cast to them. 

“No,” Tabitha answered calmly, “I don’t think we heard anything unusual.  When did it happen?  We were wrestling with Wulafric and weren’t paying attention to much else.  I don’t know if we could even have heard a scream, much less something breaking.”

Roger the Butler swallowed heavily.  “If you didn’t hear anything, how do you know something broke?”

Tabitha looked startled, then confused.  “I—you said someone destroyed something, I just assumed—“

The relief hit Roger in a wave.  “Yes, something broke, something important.  We’re searching for who did it.  Are you sure you didn’t see or hear anything?”  At their headshakes of denial he inhaled for a deep sigh but—

What was that?  Roger sniffed the air.  He was fairly conversant with the smell of laudanum as no other servant in the house was, after years of personal service to Mistress Hilsida, and just now there was a faint odor of—

No. 

But there was.  And it was coming from John and Tabitha.  He pulled the door from their grasps and shoved himself into the room with them stumbling before him.  He took hold of both their shoulders with a heavy grip and leaned down to sniff at each of them in turn.  They both smelled of laudanum.  And before it had all been destroyed, there were only two places where they could have acquired that smell—either from the bottle that was in Mistress Hilsida’s possession (an unlikely chance that smacked more of the impossible), or directly from the source.  And there had been a broken bottle in the attic, which had potentially spilled over the destroyer.  Destroyers.  Roger the Butler’s hands clenched until both of the children squirmed in his grasp. 

“Why did you do this?  Why?”  His words slapped their faces and turned them pale. 

“Wh-what do you mean, sir?” John tried gamely.  It was of no use.

Roger abandoned Tabitha and used both hands to shake John.  “Don’t you lie to me!  Don’t you lie to me!  How could you have done this?  Why would you do this?  Answer me!”  He was shouting now, and all the servants still on the upper floor hurried to the room to learn the cause.

Tabitha sped like a bullet to John’s rescue, pounding her fists against Roger the Butler’s strong arms and chest.  Breath heaving in and out she finally stopped and shouted at him, “Let him go, let him go!  You’re hurting him.  Stop it!”  Startled by her words as he hadn’t been by her blows, Roger the Butler released John and took a step back.

“John had nothing to do with anything,” Tabitha quickly lied.  “It was only me, so don’t you dare lay a finger on him.  I wanted to destroy the laudanum, so I—“

“Missy, don’t lie to me.  I can smell it on the both of you, the laudanum you spilled when that bottle broke, both of you were in that room—“

“John wasn’t there!  I—I hugged him after I got back, that’s why he smells of it.  He—“

But now John stepped in between the both of them.  “No Tabitha.  No more lies.”  He faced Roger.  “Yes, I was there.  I helped destroy the laudanum.  Can’t you see how it’s killing all of us?  This used to be a great house, and look at it now, look at all of us now.  Forced to live in the stables and Gatehouse for fear of our Mistress.  She walks the halls like an angry ghost, destroying everything she can find, even people.  And why?  Why does she do it?  The laudanum!  That’s what’s really keeping all of us like this, keeping her like she is.  Can’t you see, Roger?  This couldn’t keep going on.  It couldn’t.”

All throughout John’s impassioned speech, the first he had ever made, Roger the Butler stood silent and still.  The words might have hit his heart with the deadly accuracy of arrows, but he stood as firm as the mountains themselves.  And as he stared at John, there was pride mixed with a terrible pain that slowly faded away to nothing, a terrible empty nothing that moved his mouth and made it speak terrible words.

“John, did you destroy the laudanum?”

Tabitha tried to interrupt, “It was my idea, I—“

“John, did you destroy the laudanum?”

“Yes.”

“Get out.  Get out of this house.  Tonight, now, get out!” Roger roared and waved his arms at the boy who stood dumbly, unable to understand the awful command.  “Get out of this house, and if I ever see you again, if you are still here in ten minutes, you will regret it!  Get out!”

Tabitha shoved at John.  He looked at her in a daze but she kept shoving him until he stumbled into a run.  But at the moment Tabitha would have followed him out the door Roger the Butler rudely grabbed the back of her dress and yanked her until she fell backwards.  Wulafric barked at him and tried to bite his leg but Roger kicked him hard enough to send him sliding to Tabitha’s side.  She stared up in fear at Roger as he crossed to the door and turned back to look at her.

“You’re not going anywhere.”  The door was shut and Tabitha could hear it being locked from the outside, the sound of the key scraping the metal not half so chilling as the sound that Tabitha’s soul made as she realized that this was all her fault.


Chapter 9

The Improbable Adventures of Tabitha Anne King, Chapter 7

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Chapter 7

Change in the Wind

            Many days and weeks passed in which nothing particular happened—at least, nothing that Tabitha’s mother might have wished.  In fact, Tabitha was able to run wilder here than she ever had at home.  She and John could often be found at the millpond skipping stones (Tabitha’s record was ten, John’s was seven, although he had to teach her how to skip them), or climbing the small cluster of trees at the north end of her lands, or passing the time of day with the shepherds that wandered by. 

But every day time was set aside for Tabitha to teach John whatever she deemed necessary.  They were making great use of Great-Aunt Hilsida’s much neglected library, and Tabitha proved just as stern a teacher as any straitlaced prim schoolmistress or starched upright schoolmaster. 

It didn’t take too long for John to master his letters, and then basic arithmetic, before Tabitha insisted on teaching him French and German.  John was less eager to learn these latter lessons than the former, (a fellow has to appear reluctant sometimes, even if it’s just for forms sake) but if he wished to keep up with Tabitha and understand anything she said (she reverted to her old habit of speaking German before lunch and French afterwards), he had to learn, so learn he did. 

It is perhaps fortunate that John was actually an intelligent sort, or their friendship would have been sorely taxed with all of what Tabitha insisted was ‘necessary.’

Once, for his own amusement, John compiled a mental list of all that Tabitha deemed ‘necessary.’  Speaking and reading several languages was necessary.  Complex math was necessary.  Memorizing the flora and fauna of obscure far away continents was necessary.  Building replicas of ancient mechanical devices was necessary (the catapult was actually a great success—if one ignored the broken window on the upper story of the south side of the house).  Manners were necessary.  Proper grammar was necessary.  Hygiene was necessary. 

Being Tabitha’s friend was a lot of work.

And even though John often found himself unable to fall asleep because of all the numbers or declensions dancing through his head, he couldn’t imagine life getting any better than this.

            Every so often Tabitha would search the house for evidence of her Great-Aunt Hilsida’s laudanum storage, but she was never successful in discovering it.  So many rooms were locked and lacking the means to open them, Tabitha was forced to leave them alone (asking Roger the Butler to open them was unthinkable, so Tabitha didn’t.  Think of it, that is). 

            Mention must be made of Wulafric, who was growing larger every day and now was pulled up into the loft in a much larger bucket than before.  He followed Tabitha and John on all their romps, running circles around them while they raced from one field to another, and he barked happily at them when they climbed trees and threw sticks for him to fetch.  It was perhaps the happiest time in Tabitha’s memory, and John’s too.  They rarely got into serious trouble, for few things were forbidden to them that they wanted to do, and as long as John was able to complete his admittedly few duties as a stable boy, his days were as free as anyone could like.  The other servants just smiled at them and made sure both of them got enough to eat, and that they never stayed out after dark.  Not that they needed reminding, for while most children might be frightened of unknown ghosts and beasts that lurk in outdoor shadows, there was a real enough terror to be afraid of that came out after dark and could often be heard shouting and screaming imprecations long after midnight.  On many occasions Tabitha slept in John’s loft rather than enter the house when she might be roaming.

            It was on one of their daily romps that Tabitha heard the idea that would change the course of not only her life, but possibly the entire world.  (you may think that sounds a trifle over-dramatic, but then, we are only at the very beginning of our story).  The fault (or shall we say responsibility) can be laid at the feet of one of the shepherds, as it was he who gave Tabitha the idea.  He meant no harm to come by it, certainly, but when Tabitha was given an idea, she would often take it in surprising directions that could not be predicted.  

Tabitha and John were having a chat with Herbert (a rather short man with a thick black beard) who often was found in the northern pasture with his flock of thirty-five sheep and his two sheep dogs.  Both dogs were far too busy and important to have anything to do with Wulafric, so he was sulking by Tabitha’s heels.

“Don’t take it to heart, tha’ young pup,” Herbert consoled him.  “Ma Rufus and Heartsease don’t think o’ much else when th’ sheep are out.”  Wulafric did not look cheered up by this revelation and instead lay his head on his paws and sighed.  Herbert laughed.  “Never saw a dog so downhearted!  Well, tha’s no sheep dog, tha’s surely not.”

“But what do you think he is?” John asked.  It was a favorite topic of discussion as everyone had heard the story of how Tabitha came to find him, but no one had any clue as to how he might turn out.

Herbert leaned on his walking stick and squinted in concentration.  “Best way to see how big a dog’ll grow is to look at th’ paws.  Now, he had big paws when he was just an armful, and he’s grown a couple stone since then, an’ I don’t think he’s about to stop any time soon.”

“He’ll be very big, then?” asked Tabitha.

“Oh, aye.  Not many’ll grow that large.  Tha’ might have a wolfhound, tha’ might.”

“A real wolfhound?”  Tabitha was impressed.  She had read stories about the early history of the land and the role that wolfhounds had played. 

“Aye.  Might be.” That was all Herbert would say on the subject, save for one thing.  “Tha’ might see what sort o’ tracker he is.  Th’ old ones had to hunt wolves, they did.”

“Wolves? But there aren’t any wolves anymore.” John said scoffingly.

“Tha’s correct, young ‘un.  An’ why do you think that is?” Herbert pointed his stick at Wulafric.  “He and his got rid of them for us.  Here, Rufus!  Heartsease!”  And Herbert was off tending to his flock again.

“Glory, Tabitha.  Do you think Wulafric could kill a wolf?”

They looked at Wulafric who was lying on his back begging for a belly rub.

“Of course he could,” Tabitha said staunchly.  “He’d be the best wolf-killer that ever lived.”

John thought it best to agree.

Of course Tabitha couldn’t just leave it at that: they needed to try and see if he was any good at tracking.  Never long without a plan, Tabitha came up with several experiments in order to gain an understanding of Wulafric’s skill.  Which turned out to be rather enormous.

            Experiment one consisted of Tabitha, John, and Wulafric going to the middle of an empty field where Tabitha told Wulafric to sit, whereupon John went behind Wulafric and then proceed to run until he was out of sight after several zigzags and changes of direction.  When Tabitha asked Wulafric to find John, he unerringly found the correct path and followed it to the millpond where they all celebrated by going for a swim. 

            Experiment two was where Tabitha decided to try Wulafric’s mettle.  Wulafric knew John rather well and it could be conceived that it wasn’t too difficult for him to find someone whose scent was familiar, but what about a scent he wasn’t familiar with?  Tabitha and Jack went to a nearby farm and asked the housewife for a shirt of her husband’s that was unwashed ‘for a grand experiment,’ as Tabitha put it.  The housewife didn’t know what to make of the pair of them (not counting the dog) but was willing enough to lend them a shirt ‘so longs you bring it back prompt.’ 

Tabitha gave the shirt to Wulafric to sniff, and then tried to indicate that he should find the owner of it.  It took a few tries for Wulafric to understand that he was supposed to do something other than sniff the shirt again, but once he sniffed around the ground and sensed his person’s approval, it became obvious that he was to search out the owner of that scent.  He took off at a joyous run, and though his legs were not yet full grown, it was a puffing Tabitha and a gasping John that gave chase.  The man was found (exactly where his wife had suspected) at the village tavern sipping an ale.  There was a bad moment where Wulafric tried to burst through the door of the tavern, but the door proved too strong for him and he bounced off.  (It was a mistake he never made again, always waiting afterward for someone to open a door for him—unless it was an easy latch door that he could manipulate with his mouth and open himself—as he never wished to repeat the experience of running full-tilt into a solid oak door).  Tabitha and John opened the door for him and as he ran up to the man and barked several times, and they began to rejoice in Wulafric’s skill, jumping around and shouting for joy until the tavern-keeper told them to go raise a racket elsewhere.  The man whose shirt they carried was entirely confused, but they were too excited for explanations and immediately ran back to the farmhouse to return the shirt to the man’s wife.

            They celebrated that night with jam tarts they convinced the cook to make, telling the story again and again how Wulafric ran into the tavern door, and then when they had opened it, ran straight to the man who fell off his stool under the bouncing happiness of the dog.  The servants were all pleased to hear the story again and again, but after the fifth time even those who had still laughed heartily at the third retelling were finding it a bit much.  But the children were happy enough to climb into the loft and make up stories for each other about how famous Wulafric would make them, and what exotic things his nose would find.

            “He could sniff out rubies and gems in the earth!” said John.

            “He could find enemy scouts in battle!” was Tabitha’s slightly more practical (sort of) reply.

            “He could track a flying eagle, he’s such a great tracker!”

            “Over mountains and rivers he’d never lose the trace!”

            And so on and so on they went, extolling Wulafric’s as yet untapped virtues, remembering every so often to scratch his belly and ruffle his ears.  (Wulafric loved being petted, but right now he would settle for one of those jam tarts, ah, too late.  The last was gone). 

            It was John who wondered aloud whether there was anything indoors that Wulafric could track, just to make a change from the outdoors.  That would mean going inside the house: Tabitha was reluctant to put this to the test, having no desire to let her anywhere near Wulafric again, but then, she was hardly ever moving about in the mornings.  And although it had been quite some time since she last thought of it, it didn’t take too long for Tabitha to recall that she had promised herself that she would find her store of laudanum and destroy it.  Visions of glory danced through her head, images of hundreds of people thanking her for freeing the land of such a terror, images of her parents begging her to come back—her father, begging her to come back, begging and apologizing for having ever sent her away. 

Tabitha was still a child, understand—although the assumed promise of others’ praise is enough to motivate even level-headed adults to heights of strangeness undreamed of.  Luis of Spain once believed that if he could learn to talk to wolves, he could tell them to leave the local flocks and herds alone, and everyone would praise his name and people from far away lands would come and seek to learn from him.  To that end, he could be found most nights on the edges of fields and up in the branches of trees, trying to get a glimpse of the awesome predator and hear his voice.  One day, when he thought himself assured and knowledgeable of the ways of wolves, he walked into the forest to commune with his newfound brothers.  His joy was perhaps a trifle short lived.  The wolves thought their newfound brother tasted quite good, and that was the end of Luis’ grand dreams.

            “John,” Tabitha said, “What if we got Wulafric to track down her laudanum store?  If she didn’t have it any longer, all the servants could go back to living in the house, and it would be much better for everyone.  What do you think?” 

When Tabitha said, ‘what do you think,’ it was less ‘what do you think’ than ‘please praise my brilliant idea so that we can go through with it.’  John was perhaps not so skilled at reading the nuances in Tabitha’s voice as she was at putting them in, so he replied,

            “You mean find it and get rid of it?  All of it?”

            “Well of course all of it.  No reason to leave just a little if we get rid of the rest.”

            “I don’t know, Tabitha.  She made Roger swear to keep it on hand at all times—“

            “Roger promised, not you.  He shouldn’t have promised anyway, if he knew what it did to her, and the rest of you.  He promised, but we didn’t, so we can do what we like.  Don’t you want to live in the house again?”

            John had never really lived in the house to begin with, and was not very moved by this argument.

            “Don’t you want her to stop roaming around at night and destroying everything she finds and scaring everyone half to death?”

            This made more sense to him, having almost been caught on several occasions when she took it into her head to roam near the stables (he had lost a very nice jacket to her gripping hands in order to escape into the stables and shut the door.  He had found the jacket the next morning torn to shreds; completely unsalvageable).  But even so, he wasn’t convinced.  Tabitha, getting desperate, pulled out the best argument she had.

            “Don’t you want all the servants to be able to live in the house again, to have proper beds and proper rooms, and for Roger to be able to sleep a full night knowing she is safe and well?  He tries so hard to keep her safe, and he’ll be so grateful to us for helping him do it.”

            This was the hardest idea for John to ignore, because he was a very loyal boy, and the thought of the other servants and Roger finally able to act and live like the proper servants he knew them to be was the clincher of it all.  What he wouldn’t do for himself he was willing to risk for their sakes.  He nodded to Tabitha.

            “For them.  I’ll help you find it, and destroy it, for all of them.”

            Tabitha nodded with great intent.  “All right then.  Here’s what we need to do…”  The plan was laid out, and John was slightly disappointed with its simplicity.  He personally thought that there ought to be more skulking about and hiding behind tapestries, like in the stories, but then, the stories would have them going in at night, and there was no chance of that.  He bowed his head to Tabitha’s experience at plan making and agreed that the next two days would see it begun and ended.

            Part one of the plan consisted in getting Wulafric a scent to follow, which meant getting ahold of her teacup, preferably with a little tea still in the bottom.  The problem was, when she was finished drinking it, there was no chance of anyone being in the house but Roger the Butler, and he certainly wouldn’t get it for them.  Tabitha assumed (although she knew a truly great plan shouldn’t have assumptions, there was no one she could ask, and if Tabitha knew one thing, it was that plans went off much smoother when adults were not involved with them) that the cup sat in her drawing room until the next morning when it was taken to the kitchens to be washed—that is, if she didn’t smash it, as she did frequently.  Regular shipments of teacups came every month to replace those that were damaged.  Roger the Butler had resigned himself to not having a full set that matched, as cheap teacups always came in different patterns each month, and currently the house contained three white cups with blue flowers, three white cups with pink flowers and green vines, two blue and gold edged cups, and one red cup.  The shipment was due next week, whereupon they would get thirty more teacups of whatever color and design.  It had occurred to Roger the Butler that perhaps if he ordered more teacups than necessary, and then kept a full set somewhere safe, they would have a full set to present to visitors.  And then he recalled that the last time they had visitors was five years ago when a family had found themselves stranded only a mile from the house and had begged a place to stay overnight while a new carriage was fetched.  The stories of their horrible experience were still circulating the country, and it was highly unlikely anyone in the future would make a similar mistake, so Roger the Butler tried not to mind about the teacups. 

You might think it odd that Roger the Butler, unshaven and shabby and dedicated master of the sway-step, should care about teacups and the state of Mistress Hilsida’s estate, but he was not always thus, just as Mistress Hilsida and her estate were not always thus.  As they had waned, so had he, until they were hardly distinguishable.  But once upon a time—so very long ago now—he had been a proper Butler in a proper house, and even now the instincts that belong to all Butlers had not left him completely, even if they were too weak and tired to care about anything big, they still niggled about the smallest of things. 

The plan was to intercept the teacup before it made it to the kitchen.  To that end, Tabitha, John, and Wulafric woke up extra early to sneak into the house before the rest of the servants came to do their daily business. 

Taking great care, the threesome walked quietly down the long front hall that led to her drawing room, all of them peering into the open doors on either side of them, hoping not to catch a glimpse of her sleeping on a couch or spread out on the floor (apparently, Great-Aunt Hilsida did not always make it to her bedroom to sleep, and had been found asleep in many strange places, up to and including back staircases and inside armoires).  They didn’t catch sight or sound of her, to both their great relief and growing anxiety.  For if she wasn’t in any room that they saw, she might—might—still be in the drawing room, complicating Tabitha’s plan exceedingly, although she had an idea of what to do if that was the case, she sincerely hoped it wasn’t necessary. (Tabitha believed in being prepared for all circumstances.  She had plans for what to do if another country invaded, plans for what to do if the ocean rose up and covered the earth again, and she even had plans for how to escape after being kidnapped by Russians, although that one involved five novels of dubious quality and a tuning fork)

They arrived at the door of the drawing room.  It was shut.  John was hanging back at this point, playing lookout to Tabitha’s scout, as per the plan.  Wulafric was standing next to Tabitha, panting lightly in a happy way (sneaking around was great fun, after all), as Tabitha had expected.  She reached out a hand and laid it gently on the door handle, turning it ever so slowly and wincing at its every creak (must remember next time to bring oil) until the door cracked open.  Tabitha put her eye to the crack and did her best to examine the room. 

It was one of the cleaner rooms in the house despite the amount of time she usually spent in it, precisely because she spent so much time in it, as Roger the Butler insisted that it be cleaned each day, along with her bedroom. 

Not seeing anything alarming, but still conscious of the risk of her being somewhere in there, Tabitha slowly opened the door wide enough for her to enter.  She turned back to look at John and motioned that he keep watching for anyone, and then motioned to Wulafric that he was to sit and not follow her into the room.  He seemed inclined to argue, but she was very firm in insisting upon it. 

Tabitha entered the drawing room.  Sun was streaming fully through the windows, as the curtains had been torn down recently and not yet replaced.  Various bits of porcelain crockery were shattered on the floor and Tabitha nearly despaired at the thought that she might have destroyed her teacup last night, but then she caught sight of it sitting on the low wooden table next to the chair she had been sitting in the first time Tabitha had seen her.  Growing more nervous Tabitha quickly crossed to the chair and took the teacup in her hands, rejoicing inwardly that there was a small amount left on the bottom—just a mouthful, and horribly cold, but then, no one was going to drink it. 

The sound of a muffled snort caused Tabitha to freeze.  Silence filled the room again, and Tabitha hoped she had imagined it, but then it happened again, and it sounded like it was coming from directly behind her chair.  Tabitha leaned to one side, catching sight of what had first appeared to be torn draperies, and what was actually Great-Aunt Hilsida curled up asleep on the floor.  But she seemed to be waking up, and the last thing Tabitha wanted right then was for her to wake up and discover Tabitha taking away her teacup.  Tabitha started backing away, trying both to keep an eye on the floor behind her to avoid tripping or stepping on broken porcelain, and to keep Great-Aunt Hilsida in her sights.  Tabitha knew that the door wasn’t far away, and even if she woke up at that very moment, Tabitha could be out the door in a quick scurry with no one the wiser.  Hopefully.

A small piece of porcelain crunched under one foot.  Tabitha paused, but she didn’t move.  She looked behind her: the door was only a few steps away.  John appeared in the open section, motioning frantically: someone was coming.  Throwing caution to the wind, Tabitha took the last few steps as quick as she could, closing the door behind her with a small thump and then joining John and Wulafric in a race for an exit.

They were outside and well out of danger before they stopped running and began laughing at their success.  John told Tabitha how he had heard the other servants entering and making their way through the house, getting closer and closer until he was sure they would be discovered.  Tabitha in turn told John how she had been in the room, just a few feet away.  John went wide-eyed at the horror of it, proclaiming that he would never have been brave enough to do what Tabitha did.  She just smiled, thrilled at the way her plan had gone off.  (John was stunned for a few moments at the sight of Tabitha’s smile, a weakness he was quite prone too, and would be for the rest of his life, although when she finally realized it, she tried not to take too much advantage of it). 

Fortunately, the way they had been running and carrying on had not spilt the small bit of tea in the cup, and Tabitha took an extra handkerchief and soaked as much of the tea in it as she could.  She then gave it to Wulafric to sniff.  He sneezed and backed away.  She tried again.  His tail tucked beneath his legs a little but he assented and sniffed deeply at it.  This time Wulafric shook his head and tried to paw at his nose, then gave himself a huge shake as if he had just come out of the millpond and was getting rid of as much water as possible.  He looked up at Tabitha mournfully, as if saying ‘you really want me to find that?’  She in turn brandished the handkerchief at him and he sighed a doggy sigh (one of the most pitiful things really, to hear a dog sigh.  The history of sighs is very interesting, with the Marquess of Hollun having recorded the five causes of sighs in his much too long memoir of his life, although hardly anyone ever read it except as an aid to curing insomnia.  George Untergangen once believed that his wife had forty-two different sighs which she used with as much effect as most people do a paragraph of words, although his friends thought him a bit touched in the head.  But more to the point, a dog’s sigh is only the twenty-third most pitiful thing in the world, with the second most pitiful thing being the mating habits of the Australian Bowerbird, and the most pitiful thing in the world according to the largest number of people being crying kittens). 

It was a much less buoyant threesome that made its way back to the house, as one member of the party was sulking and dragging his four feet.

Now, the second part of Tabitha’s plan was this: after getting a sample of the laudanum, they would reenter the house and pretend to wander around aimlessly, while really Wulafric was sniffing out the location of the laudanum store.  After hopefully finding it, they would wait until the next day before doing anything about it, as it would be best if there was no one in the house when they destroyed it, and it would really be much nicer if she were asleep at the time. 

Reentering the house Tabitha led them all to the kitchen first for a spot of breakfast, and to establish their legitimate presence in the house that day.  This was very important, because if from the very first all the other servants understood that today was an indoor exploring day, they wouldn’t get looked at oddly for poking into corners and told off too harshly for looking at locked rooms.  A child’s curiosity is a great excuse, as Tabitha knew well and used frequently.  That day they hardly needed it: Gypsies had been spotted in the neighborhood and it was all any of the servants could talk about. 

            “They better keep their thieving hands far away from here.”

            “Last time Gypsies came here, we drove them off afore too long.”

            “Stole three cows before they left.”

            “Not to mention the chickens.”

            “And Ross Formly’s goat.”

            “Gypsies didn’t steal that goat.  My cousin Bessie said—“

            “Of course they stole Ross’ goat.  Gypsies steal everythin’.”

            “But Bessie said—“

            “Can’t be havin’ such immoral people around—“

            “Stole my mother’s washing up—“

            “Four cows—“

            After a while it all blended together into a mass of avidly discussed accusations that all boiled down to one thing: Gypsies were no good, and good folk wouldn’t put up with their company for long.

            Is there any question in anyone’s mind of what Tabitha immediately wished to do?

            I thought not.  But today of all days Tabitha would not allow herself to be sidetracked from the culmination of her long awaited scheme—even for Gypsies. 

It was incredibly disappointing, however.  Not just because she was going to miss out on the chance to see real live Gypsies, but because she could have danced a waltz with Wulafric around the kitchen and no one would have noticed.  It really was a perfect day to carry out their search of the house.  But Tabitha grumbled inwardly, as it wasn’t much fun being discreet when everyone made it so easy.

Breakfast that morning was hot rolls filled with bacon and thick porridge with a little fresh honey drizzled in.  Wulafric ate five rolls and licked both Tabitha and John’s bowls clean of any drop of porridge remaining.  They then smiled at the cook and her helper and scampered off to the upper floor where they would begin their search. 

Inside Tabitha’s seldom used room she again made Wulafric sniff the drenched handkerchief and made it quite plain that he was to track that scent or else.  Drooping a bit, he complied, sniffing all about the room before going to the door and indicating that he had to look elsewhere (really we mean smell elsewhere, but that doesn’t sound as good).  They checked every open door on the top floor, and even managed to open a few of the locked ones who had taken several strong hits lately and weren’t too keen on holding together. 

Wulafric didn’t find anything worth mentioning, although John had a grand time gaping at some of the old tattered furnishings and hangings, and was appropriately appreciative when shown the gold room that had so captivated Tabitha on her first day.  Strangely, it was this room that Tabitha felt most anxious about, hoping desperately that it wasn’t hidden anywhere in here, as that would somehow spoil the wonderfulness of the room—dare it be said—the magic of the room that called to her whenever she had a moment in the day which needed something to fill it when John was busy. 

The laudanum wasn’t there however, and Tabitha breathed easier.  John, noticing her relief but unsure of the exact reason, put an arm around her shoulder anyway and earned himself a smile that immobilized him for precisely three seconds.

They then moved their search down a floor, with Tabitha refreshing Wulafric’s nose at intervals with the handkerchief.  There were some moments when he seemed to catch a whiff of whatever he was searching out, but it never lasted above a brief second.  While near her drawing room Wulafric perked up a bit, but Tabitha knew that was only because of the lingering odor of the many cups of tea she had drunk and smashed in that room.  Tabitha’s hopes were still high that the laudanum would be found, but the slow pace of the search was beginning to wear on her.  Loyal John would not admit to being tired or bored, but in truth he was both.  They searched the upper floor and the lower floor, the pantry and the wine cellar, the servants’ quarters and the garden shed out back.  The day was drawing near to tea time and they were no closer to discovering the laudanum than they had that morning.  It was at that moment when blind luck saw fit to intervene, as being blind, it saw no reason not to.

One thing Tabitha had not considered, in all of her plans, was that laudanum is kept in tightly sealed bottles, closed off from the air and impervious to Wulafric’s searching nose.  Roger the Butler had been very careful that they never spilled, so they did not stain the area where they were kept.   Normally Mistress Hilsida kept the only open bottle on her person until it was emptied, at which point Roger the Butler would go to the store of laudanum and fetch a new bottle. 

As luck would have it, that very night he went to fetch a new bottle of it, and here is how Tabitha found out and followed him.

While nearly in despair of ever finding the laudanum, the threesome trailed back to the kitchens to eat their late lunch before the cooks left, and while passing quite near to her drawing room they heard the sound of a bottle smashing and her voice shrieking out,

“It is empty, and you are supposed to have a new one for me when I need it!  Well, where is it?”

There was a softer murmured reply that they could not hear before her voice rang out again.

“Well get it.  And quickly!”

The threesome ducked into an open doorway and watched in fascination as Roger the Butler exited her drawing room and headed for the stairs leading to the upper floors.  Tabitha felt a little cross because they had searched the upper floors and found nothing, but she was quick enough to follow Roger the Butler, and John and Wulafric came right behind her as silent as they could be. 

What followed was much more to John’s way of thinking about how a secret search should be conducted, with skulking in dark corners and furtive hand signals.  He had secretly felt deprived of it, while at the same time acknowledging the brilliance and workability of Tabitha’s plan—although to him it lacked imagination.  But he got all the hiding and skulking that any young boy could wish as they followed Roger the Butler to a locked door hidden away in a corner of the upper floor that they had been unable to open. 

Roger the Butler produced a key and opened it with some difficulty, although the lock was quiet and the hinges did not shriek.  He disappeared for a minute and Tabitha did not dare follow him, as she had no idea what lay beyond that room.  But he returned after not too long a time and although Tabitha did not see him carrying anything in his hands, one of his pockets bulged as if it had been stuffed with something and could barely contain it.  Excitement rose within her again.  This was it.  This was the secret store of her laudanum.  They didn’t dare destroy it tonight, not with her about to drink her afternoon tea, but tomorrow—tomorrow they would force their way through that lock and smash every bottle.  Tabitha ran back to her room and John followed.

“We must get through that door.” Tabitha said.  “Everything depends on it.”

But how to do it?  Tabitha did not yet know how to pick a lock, (although it was a skill she would soon acquire and utilize her entire life to great effect) and neither did John, and the door was solid and not about to be broken down (else she likely would have done so already), so the only remaining option was to steal Roger the Butler’s keys.

John thought this a horrible plan.

“We can’t steal his keys,” he said, horrified at the thought of it.  “We just can’t!”

Tabitha was sitting very straight at this moment, looking for all the world like a grown woman of twenty-five instead of a girl of 13.  “And why not?”

“Well—well,” John sputtered, “It’s Roger—we just—we can’t—“

“There is no other way, John.  How else are we to get behind that door?  We’ll have to steal it.  Give me a moment and I’ll think up a plan.”

For the first time since he met Tabitha, John was very afraid of what wheels might be turning in her head, of what outrageous plan she might come up with to take the keys away from Roger.  His head felt split with warring loyalties.  He loved Tabitha and would do anything for her, but Roger had very nearly been a father to him, and the thought of stealing anything from him was unthinkable.  John had been able to get around his divided loyalties so far by thinking on the great benefit to Roger and the other servants, as well as the fact that they wouldn’t actually be disobeying any orders, really.  They were just doing what was best, and it wasn’t forbidden to look for the laudanum, and John had never been told not to destroy it…But stealing from Roger was another matter.

“No.  No, I won’t do it.  I don’t think its right, Tabitha.”

“Is it right that she forces her servants to live in the stables because their lives are in danger if they stay in the main house?  Is it right that she endangers their lives because she won’t stop drinking her laudanum?  Is it right that she should wander the house and destroy all she owns because of what the drug does to her?  Is any of this right?  No, John.  None of this is right.  But we have a chance to stop it all, don’t you see?  We can do it, so we should do it. 

“I think this is what adults mean when they always talk about ‘duty.’  I think duty is doing what must be done, whether or not we like it, because if we don’t, others will suffer.  We can stop it all, John.  Stop it for good.”

John hung his head, feeling ashamed of himself, and not knowing quite why.  His thoughts felt as slow and thick as honey, but he forced them out one word at a time.  “I want to stop it, you know I do Tabitha.  I don’t think any of it’s right.  But stealing is wrong, and doing wrong to make things right—I dunno.  Somehow it just seems wrong.  And I know you’ll come up with a brilliant plan to get the keys, you’ve probably thought it mostly out already,” he looked up at her and a small shrug of her shoulders made him nod and smile a desperate smile. “but I can’t do what you want.  Not this time.”

It was finally getting through to Tabitha that John was not to be cajoled out of his notion of the rightness or wrongness of what they needed to do.  She was a bit puzzled.  It was entirely unexpected of him to change his mind like this.  He had never balked at anything before and she really didn’t know what to do with him.  People had always balked at her plans, but then, that was only after they had been mostly executed—she had never shared them beginning to end with someone, in fact, she had never had a real friend before John, so an unaccustomed feeling of hurt was spreading through her. 

Her friend, the one whom she had trusted more than she had trusted anyone else, was refusing to do as she wanted, and Tabitha didn’t know what to do.  She wasn’t the type of girl to burst into tears (she had seen her mother do it too many times to wish to be anything like that), or scream imprecations (like some of the maids and footmen she had seen arguing).  Cold revenge was her usual style when something unacceptable what done to her, but she had no desire to hurt John.  She just wanted to understand why he was refusing, but she didn’t. 

Tabitha no longer looked like a strong proud woman of twenty-five.  She looked small and vulnerable, only a young girl who was staring at her best friend in the whole world with confused eyes that wouldn’t cry—no, she wouldn’t cry.  She wouldn’t.  Not if she had to dash her eyes out.

John felt like the worst boy in the whole world.  His love for Tabitha made his heart pound in his chest like a giant’s drum, aching fiercely, and he wished desperately for a solution to this, any sort of solution that would put things back the way they were.  Tabitha’s hurt felt like his own, and he would take all the hurt if it meant she didn’t feel any.  But he knew that was impossible, so he forced his mind to greater heights than it had ever achieved before because he must solve this problem, and for the first time in his life he believed that he was intelligent enough to do it. 

(this is a particularly bad time to interject, but it must be said that John made an uncommonly wise decision not to tell Tabitha that he would do anything to make her happy again, because it would not have taken long for her to realize that this was a promise, and she could then tell him to steal the keys from Roger the Butler.  John would have either had to do it, breaking his soul in the process, or not done it, breaking his heart.  But John’s struggle was all internal, and it was a struggle that would have awed any onlooker, if they had been privileged enough to see it.  It would have drawn more roaring crowds than ever haunted the walls of the Coliseum in Ancient Rome, more onlookers than ever came out to greet their ruler and chant their name, more people than the world actually contained at any one moment, because time itself would bend its form to let everyone who ever existed see this battle within the heart of an extraordinary boy who was fast learning what it meant to be a man).

“Tabitha, will you trust me?”

Tabitha blinked.  Of all the things she had expected to hear, this was not one of them.  A long moment passed in which John’s heart plummeted to the bottom of the earth (it had already long ago gone past his stomach and feet) before she replied,

“Yes, but what are you—“

“I—I can’t quite say.  But if you really trust me, don’t make any plans to steal the keys from Roger.  Let me think of another way.  Give me a chance to do this, Tabitha.  Give me a chance.”

She nodded, the feeling that this was a very important moment causing her skin to tingle and swirl with sensation.  She swallowed hard.  “Can I help?”

John smiled.  “I’ll always need your help, Tabitha.  Always.”

Chapter 8