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

Are you finally paying attention?

Have you ever found yourself driving somewhere and you're about to take an off ramp and there's all these >>>> sharp turn arrows and the speed limit (as it always does) says 25 mph? 

I think you'll agree almost every ramp is like this.  (at least in New England.  We seem to specialize in curvy roads.  That's what you get when you allow cows to design your road system)  And almost every ramp is lying.  Because the road really isn't that >>>>>> curvy, and you really don't need to be going 25 mph to get around it.  So you get used to ramps that lie to you, until you don't believe any ramp any more.

But on occasion--on the very very rare occasion--there is a ramp that is telling the truth.  It really does mean that the road is this >>>>>>>> curvy, and you do need to be going 25 mph in order to survive going around it.

But how are you supposed to know that?  You've been so disillusioned by all the other ramps that have lied to you your whole life that you have no idea when the truth is staring you in the face. 

My conclusion is that we need another road sign.

Only this road sign will be like the Oscar award of all road signs.  Only very very special roads, the type of roads that genuinely deserve it, will get this road sign.  And because of its sparse use, you will be able to trust it and believe in it whenever you see it.

I call it the 'Slow Down Or Die' road sign.

And I think it should be in bright purple, to present a contrast from all the other road signs that have disillusioned us with their lies. 

Because we all really need more truth in our lives, and the 'Slow Down Or Die' road sign would provide us with that.  It would be there when we needed it most; the reassuringly eye-stabbing purple informing us that we have a simple choice to make: Slow down, or Die.

'happy sigh.'  I love simple choices.

The Sweaty Hand of Fame

The room was dark, and the only areas with any real light were the bars along each wall.  Even the bathrooms had a dimly lit grungy ambiance.  Because places like this are never dirty or disgusting or too cheap to pay the lighting bill: they have ambiance. 

I was a bit nervous approaching the man at the bar, but I needed something and I wasn't sure if he could get it for me. 

'Hi.  I was wondering if you knew where I could find some--' (let us pause a moment while I think of something to call what I was looking for.  Let us call it 'penguins')  'penguins.'

'Oh, that might be a bit tough,' the man at the bar says.  'I don't think we have penguins here, but do you have a male friend with you?  'Cause the guy in the men's bathroom might have what you need.'

I'm a little confused by this, and I wonder if he misheard me.  It's possible, even though the really loud music hasn't started yet.  'No, I need penguins.'

'Yeah,' he says, 'The guy in the men's bathroom might still have some.' He motions to another man standing near.  'He'll check for you to see if he's got any.'

I look at this new player in the game.  He's youngish and has a drink in his hand and if there ever was someone to be on speaking terms with the 'guy in the men's bathroom,' this would be him.  He jerks his head in a signal for me to follow him.  The door to the bathroom isn't far.  He stops for a second and says,

'Wait here a minute,' then he goes in.  I try to nonchalantly lean against a nearby wall, as if a woman standing right outside the men's bathroom was normal.  I probably don't succeed.

Fortunately I'm only waiting a few seconds before the man from the bar comes out and says, 'Yeah, he's got some,' and then goes back to the bar, drink in hand.

'The guy in the men's bathroom' holds open the door a crack as I stand outside the portal.  'I need some penguins,' I say to him.  He nods and reaches around in a jar for a small plastic tied off bag, and then he names his price.  It's reasonable, so I pay him and walk away, relieved both to have found what I was looking for, and to have concluded my business with this shady underworld of nefarious characters.  Just in time: the place is starting to fill up.  I shove my penguins in my ears and--

Hold on, hold on, maybe now would be a good time to tell you what 'penguins' really are.  They're earplugs. 

No, I'm serious.  I went to a concert last night (Mutemath!  They rocked!) but when I got there, I found I'd left my earplugs in the car.  Major bummer, as I had a pretty good spot near the stage.  Unfortunately, that spot was also right under a huge speaker and as I stared up at its majestic towering-ness, all hopes of being able to hear future unborn grandchildren say 'I love you,' melted into a puddle of, 'What?  What was that?'

But I'm in a club/concert hall, right?  They have huge amounts of alcohol and lots of loud music: perhaps someone there sells earplugs?  I can only hope.  Because trying to walk all the way out to my car and back again is not very appealing.  So I go to the bar at the far wall (they're not busy) and then the above story happened just as I wrote it.  For real.  (Only instead of asking for penguins, I was asking for earplugs.  And everyone involved was much nicer than they sounded up there.)

Which leads us to some interesting questions: why is there a 'guy in the men's bathroom' who sells earplugs?  And if he sells earplugs, why is he doing so in such a strange fashion?  Is he not allowed to sell earplugs in the club proper?  Does it violate some club rule?  Then why is he allowed to sell them in the men's bathroom?

But I have this sneaking hunch, people--and you can tell me if I'm way off here--there's this strange idea floating through my head that earplugs weren't the only thing he was selling in small tied off plastic bags.  For a reasonable price.

Fortunately, this does not go down as the most interesting part of my night.  The concert absolutely rocked, and although Mutemath appeared a bit tired, they were still on top of their game and gave us a great show.  It's been fun to watch them develop as a band, because I was there at one of their earliest concerts, about six months after they (what do you call it as a verb when a band 'bands?' I'm trying to avoid the obvious pun, you understand) started.  It was at SoulFest in New Hampshire and we were only waiting for another band to come on later but these guys started playing and they were really good and entertaining and afterward my Dad and I walked the entire fair trying to find their tent and buy a cd or something, but they didn't have a tent.  They didn't even have a cd yet.  I think it took them another 6 months to a year to do an album, but it was worth the wait.  And ever since that day almost ten years ago, it's been worth the wait.  WHOO!!  MUTEMATH!!!!

Ahem.  So really, seeing them in concert was the best part of the night.  And not blowing out my eardrums was a good perk too.

But there's a funny thing that happens when you see a band on stage.  It doesn't really matter whether they're famous or just people you know vaguely who started a band: they're all so much cooler than you when they're up there playing music.  And while ordinarily you might not think much of them if you just saw them walking down the street, at a concert--given the chance, you'll fight for a chance to shake their hand.  Because fame (real or perceived) is like that.  It's as if the closer you are to a famous person the more real you become.  Silly, isn't it, but we all feel it.  It's why we try to stand at the front during a concert, or why we wait for hours afterward just to talk to them.  It's why we see celebrities everywhere we look because maybe just by recognizing them we're a bit more important than we were before.  (and btw, there was totally a Matt Damon look-alike hugging his girlfriend in front of me.  Could have been his kid or a cousin or something.  Had the nose and the facial structure and everything :) )

So at the end of the concert when I was only two people away from the railing and Paul Meany was coming over to our end, I pushed forward and shook the sweaty hand of fame. 

What did you expect?  He'd just been rockin' out for two hours straight! 

Wednesday Word: Hamantaschen

This is probably not a very familiar word to most of you.  In fact, if you're not Jewish--or don't have close friends who are Jewish--it's likely you've never even heard this word before. 

But it is not just a word: it is a cookie.

Not only that!  But it is a cookie with an interesting history.

(What can I say?  It is a Jewish cookie.)

A long long time ago in the land of Persia there was a king named Xerxes whose chief adviser was a man named Haman.  Now, there were a lot of Jews living in Persia, and Haman hated all of them.  (because one man named Mordecai refused to bow to him, Haman wanted to kill not just Mordecai, but all the Jews as well.  Jeesh.)  So Haman told Xerxes that the Jews in the land were a dangerous people and should all be eradicated.  And because Xerxes had a very large kingdom and had no idea what half the people he ruled were like, he gave Haman permission to do what he wanted.  But Mordecai was the uncle of Xerxes' Queen, Esther, and he told his niece to plead with Xerxes for not just her life, but the lives of all her people.  (this was slightly dangerous, since if she went before the king without him summoning her, he could have her killed.  But he liked her so he didn't kill her) So eventually Esther tells the king about Haman's plot and Xerxes orders Haman to be hung on the gallows Haman had constructed in his backyard in anticipation of hanging Mordecai there.  (Hoisted on his own petard, wot wot.)  And then Xerxes declares that all the Jews in the land are safe and he will not let anyone ever try to commit genocide on them ever again. 

The End.

(for a more complete version, see the book of Esther in the Bible)

Nice story, right?  Of course right.  But this is where the story of the cookie takes an alarming turn.  See, growing up, I was always told that Hamantaschen was a cookie we made for Purim (the celebration of the Jews not all dying in Persia) and that it was made in a triangle because Haman wore a three cornered hat.

Furious internet searching has corroborated this fact.

Hamantaschen!

Which leads me to the strange part of this word: why does Haman get a cookie named after him?

I mean he almost killed thousands and thousands of Jews (possibly more) and we give him a cookie.

Does Hitler get a cookie?  No.

Did Pol Pot get a cookie?  No.

Did Stalin?  No.

But Haman, yes, we give Haman a cookie. 

Perhaps because he didn't succeed in his genocidal plans.  It is sort of a celebrational cookie.  But then why not name it for Esther?  Or Mordecai?  Or even Xerxes (as thick as he was). 

No.  We must name the cookie for the evil Haman so we will never ever forget just how much we hate him.

And every Purim we read the story of Esther and every time Haman's name is said we boo loudly and use noisemakers to drown it out. 

You have to admit, when it comes to 'forgive and forget,' we Jews are champions.

But the cookie is actually quite tasty.  :)

The Black Stallion

This was one of my favorite childhood movies.  Some of you might better recognize it from the book by Walter Farley, and having read and watched both, there are few differences.  Well, one major one, but other than that...moving on...

What is so wonderful about this movie is that there's hardly any talking in it.  And there doesn't need to be.

Boy gets shipwrecked on island with wild horse.  Boy befriends Horse.  They get rescued.

That's half the movie right there, and the movie is two hours long.  And aside from the first ten minutes, there's no talking for that entire stretch of time.  Just beautiful music and amazing scenery and well chosen scenes to demonstrate the passage of time and the Boy's success in surviving alone.  And his befriending a wild Horse. 

!Horse!

The second half of the movie is the return to civilization and the Boy's desire to train his Horse to race.  Again, much of this is accomplished with very little talking. 

In fact, if this movie were a person, I'd have to call it laconic. 

But it's not boring!  I swear it isn't!  It managed to hold me enthralled as a child more times than I can count.  I loved this movie.  It was beautiful and interesting and it still is!  I just rewatched it and I loved it all over again!  Perhaps with a bit more appreciation for the filmmaking process and the difficulty of training a horse to respond to commands from a movie trainer.

But for anyone who had a favorite movie from childhood who watches it again years later, isn't it strange to see our protagonists look so young?  'Cause when I watched this when I was a kid, Boy looked so old!  Or at least, old enough.  Now he looks like he's 9, or maybe a small 11. 

'sigh.'

But maybe my love for this movie was unusual for a child.  I did love a lot of strange movies when I was growing up, and a couple of them were 3 or so hours long.  Ben-Hur!  The Ten Commandments! 

But if any of you are brave enough to dip back into childhood and watch a truly well-made movie about a boy and his horse, watch The Black Stallion.  It is probably the artsiest movie I love, and I don't care.  :)

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