Vellum and Green Vitriol
Copyright © 2007, S. Y. Affolee
The Second Conjuration
Seal XV
Edgar looked like a male version of his sister Tabitha, the same rotund shape, the same smile, the same red cheeks--although this time, I suspected it might be from drinking or laughing too much rather than blushing. His hair was a short brown mop, a bit sparse and graying. He shook our hands and briefly ushered us into a small office where he quickly had the practicalities out of the way. Meanwhile, Tabitha had insisted on carrying our luggage up to our rooms.
"You know, Tabitha and I are happy that you've chosen to put up here, not just because you're visiting Fairmont, but well, it's the beginning of the holiday season," Edgar confided as he led us back out to the foyer of the bed and breakfast. "Most people are avoiding the small villages like this one in favor of Carinpapple."
"We've met quite a few travelers heading off in that direction," I replied.
The proprietor of the Fairmont Bed and Breakfast gave a small shudder, at odds with his seemingly cheerful disposition. "It's those pagans and New Age dabblers. Strange people."
"Well, I can say that they aren't exactly tradition," said Rhys. "But I wouldn't say that they were all strange. Most of them are probably chasing a trend, anyway. People like doing new things. Sooner or later, the newness will wear off and they will be doing what they did before."
"I would have to disagree with that last part," I said. "They won't do what they did before. They would do the next new thing. Take fashion, for instance. I am sure that in ten years, there will be something totally different at the dressmakers."
Rhys chuckled. "Speak for yourself. Gentlemen's clothes change very little over the years."
Edgar nodded. "That's very true. At any rate, I must say that we are a bed and breakfast, so we do not serve dinner and lunch. However, I can recommend several places on the main street that may be to your liking."
"What is Fairmont's central gathering for the locals?" Rhys queried. "I'd like to soak up a bit of local color while having supper. How about you, Ana?"
"Local color is all right," I replied. "As long as it doesn't include brawls."
Edgar gave a loud guffaw. "Oh, not to worry, Miss Talbot. Even out here in the countryside, we are fairly civilized. Not like up north in the Hinterlands--say in the Orkneys. Most of the locals are rather sedate in their manner, I should say. But if you want a bit of local color and none of the rather touristy stuff, you might try Barney's. It's just down the street that way." He waved his arm in a vague direction. "There's a sign and a lantern right above the entranceway--hard to miss."
"Is it more like a café and a restaurant or a pub?" asked Rhys.
"Pub," replied Edgar. "Every week, they have the local band play a jig or two to liven things up. I'm not sure if they're up tonight, though."
"All done!" Tabitha came down from the upper floor in a huff. "I have your things in your rooms. You'll both find that the rooms are quite nice--they overlook the back gardens. Have you had supper yet?"
"Ah, no," said Rhys. He smiled when Tabitha batted her eyes at him again. Apparently he wasn't as tired as he had tried to convince me earlier. "We were about to head on over to Barney's, a pub your brother recommended to us."
"Oh!" She fluttered her hands in excitement. "Why, we could come with you to show you where it is. Couldn't we, Edgar?"
Her brother shrugged. "Since we don't have any other boarders and it is unlikely that any others will show up for the remainder of the day, I don't see how we would not. Besides, I had promised Garrett that I would catch up with him soon on some things. He'll be at the pub."
In the evening, the main street of Fairmont was quiet and dark except for lights at the windows. As the four of us walked down the street, I breathed in the clear air--not as sooty as an industrial city such as Colchester or even Greenglass even though it was pretty much located in the middle of nowhere. The sky above was also surprisingly clear. Without a multitude of lights blazing in the village streets, I could clearly make out the stars. Mentally, I made a note of the pole star and its surrounding constellations. I could hardly remember the last time I actually saw any stars in Colchester. There was a time, long ago, when I had regularly looked up into the night sky and pondered the orbits of the planets and the stars.
I knew that I had once had an owner who had been an astronomer. It had been in the fifteenth century--at the time, I was still in Italy. The astronomer was himself a hoarder of books and had merely left me on a shelf, only rarely paging through me to find a spell to decontaminate his food. His patron had been a powerful Italian count of a ruthless ruling family. Because he had been affiliated with the count and his studies often strayed toward the heretical--for that time--the astronomer himself had gained enemies. Some of them desperately wanted to see him dead.
Unfortunately, the astronomer had dropped his vigilance one day and that was the end of him. Soon after, I had been shipped off to a collection in Switzerland owned by the astronomer's estranged nephew.
"So what brings you to Fairmont?" said Tabitha as she looked up at Rhys. "On holiday? Visiting relatives? Just to see the sights?"
"Fairmont seemed a little off the beaten path," remarked Rhys. "This village seems to have a lot to recommend it as far as I can see."
The woman preened.
I stifled a snicker with a cough.
Edgar seemed oblivious to any byplay. "Forgive me for being forward, Miss Talbot, but what relation are you to Mr. Lattimore?" Tabitha had pulled a reluctant Rhys further ahead to point out something so that they were out of earshot.
"We're not criminals on the run, if you're implying that."
"No. No of course not. You don't look like a criminal."
"It's the lack of unibrow, I suppose."
"I wouldn't know."
I tucked my hands into my coat pockets. "We're friends, sort of. Not that kind of friend, you understand. We're just traveling companions. Somewhat like business associates."
"Business associates on holiday?" Edgar seemed perplexed.
"We're looking for a particular item. We had been directed here by the Greenglass Auction House. One of their customers may have the item we are searching for." At his curious expression, I clarified, "It's a book. It's an academic matter, you see. I'm actually a research assistant for a professor back at the Institute at Colchester."
"Ah! I see." The inn proprietor seemed to muse over that bit of information for a moment. "Well, I'm not sure if I can help you. Anyone who wants to purchase books usually takes the trip to Greenglass. Fairmont is a small village--we only have the necessities. Perhaps you will have better luck asking some others around at Barney's. Some of the locals are real gossips, you know. They would definitely know if anyone around has a private library at their disposal."
The pub, Barney's, was just as how the inn proprietor had described it with the sign and lantern at the entrance. The interior was like the front parlor of someone's house--worn but clean and warm. Tabitha had already dragged Rhys over to a table near the bar counter where some older men were sitting, drinking foaming pints. A middle-aged woman, thick-jawed and curly haired briefly came over to flirt with Edgar before taking orders. Edgar soon excused himself to talk to Garrett, one of the men at the counter.
Three musicians stood on an upraised platform next to a gigantic, smoldering hearth. The fiddler was tuning his instrument as the two others--one holding a tin whistle and the other a bodhran--chatted with an older couple sitting at a nearby table.
"We're in luck!" exclaimed Tabitha. "The local band is playing tonight. Joe, Jack, and Will call themselves the Flying Dutchmen--even though they aren't Dutchmen and they definitely don't fly."
"They must be admirers of Frederick Marryat, then," said Rhys.
Tabitha looked blank.
"Marryat wrote a book called The Phantom Ship about the Flying Dutchman legend," he explained.
"Ah! How clever!" she laughed.
I cupped my chin under a palm and took in the atmosphere of the pub. "Well, it's either that, or they like Wagner very much."
"I doubt it," Rhys replied. "Wagner was a blowhard. Or at least that's what my brother told me."
"Your brother?" said Tabitha.
"He was living in Germany the last I heard of him. He, ah, was under the patronage of a rather eccentric baron who was heavily into the music scene. He met Wagner once."
She leered at him. "I hope he's as good looking as you."
Rhys appeared nonplussed. "My brother looks exactly like me."
"Twins!"
I barely suppressed a wince at her squeal. "So, which one is which? Who's Joe, Jack, and Will?"
Tabitha forcibly tore her attention away from Rhys to address my question. "Joe plays the bodhran. Jack plays the tin whistle. And Will plays the fiddle. The three of them have played together since they were wee lads and they often use the pub as their practice. Of course, considering how wonderful they are, I doubt they need any practice."
As our server came by with dinner, the Flying Dutchmen finally got into position. With brief eye contact, they started into a lively reel that reminded me of rustic dance halls filled with shy country misses and even clumsier lads at social dancing events. When I had been hiring myself out as a companion to aging widows, I had been forced to attend to such events. Such things were amusing for the first couple of times, but after a while, they were rather soporific.
"Ana?"
"Hm?" I forced myself to take a sip of the tea and a bite of the veal.
Rhys frowned as he finished his supper. "You look quite odd. Is the food not to your liking?"
"Oh no, it's fine. It's just that this music reminds me of something." I grimaced. "Sorry, they're some not very scintillating memories. Not bad ones, just some very boring ones."
After the first set of reels, the trio took a rest by ordering several pints of ale. They chatted with some of the pub's other patrons before getting back onto the platform and launched into an energetic jig. Some of the patrons began clapping in time and Edgar and the woman he had flirted with earlier had gotten up to dance. Apparently, this was one of the villagers' favorite tunes.
"Come on, Mr. Lattimore! We can't miss this one!" Tabitha said, dragging Rhys to his feet.
"What?"
Amused, I watched the plump proprietress of the Fairmont Bed and Breakfast stomp her feet to the music. At first, there was a flash of consternation across Rhys' face, but then it was gone as he smoothly eased into the dance. I found jigs somewhat too energetic for my tastes, but he seemed to dance well.
"Better be careful," said a voice nearby. "She might not look like much, but she's fairly aggressive when she wants to cuckold someone's spouse."
I turned my head to see a man sitting in the seat that Tabitha had vacated. I wasn't quite sure what age he was since the part of his face that showed from underneath his cap was tanned and slightly wrinkled--a farmer's face. A pungent smelling cigar was clenched at the corner of his mouth. He didn't take it out of his mouth when he spoke, rather he just spoke around it.
"You mean Tabitha?" I looked back to the dancing couples. The plump woman just looked like she was having fun to me. "She looks harmless."
"Men can't resist her," he said, making me blink in surprise. "I'd bet my left pinkie on that. So you'd better keep your man close to you."
I cocked my head. This farmer seemed almost enigmatic--but was he jealous? I wasn't quite sure, so I did not call him on it. Instead, I said, "Rhys isn't mine. He can take care of himself."
"You've got a lot of trust in him," he said ominously.
"Well, it isn't really a matter of trust." I shrugged. "You must be one of the locals. I was wondering if maybe you, or perhaps someone you know, might know of a person I am looking for."
"Oh?" He squinted at me as cigar smoke wreathed his head. "It's a small village. Everyone knows pretty much everyone. Visitors don't come here that often, and any that do are fairly obvious."
"I'm not looking for someone who passed through. I was told that a book collector takes his residence here. His name is Archibald Chesterfield."
"Ah, that bastard." The farmer puffed on his cigar. His dark eyes glinted in the pub light. "You might want to talk to Widow Fitzgerald."
"Widow Fitzgerald?"
"Everyone knows her. She lives down the road, next to the grocer's. You might want to take an evil eye amulet with you when you meet her though."
"Why?"
"She's a witch."
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