Fablehaven1-Fablehaven Page 3

  That was weird, Seth said.

  How could they be strong enough to lift it?

  There were a few of them. Want me to flip it again?

  No, I’m scared the mirror will fall off and break.

  Okay. He draped his towel over his shoulder. I’m

  going to go change.

  Would you take the mirror?

  Fine, but I’m running. I don’t want to get stung.

  Seth moved toward the mirror slowly, snatched it, and

  ran off into the garden toward the house. Part of the swarm

  gave lazy pursuit before scattering.

  Kendra wrapped the towel around her waist, picked up

  the sunblock Seth had left behind, and started toward the

  house.

  When Kendra reached the attic playroom, Seth was

  dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved camouflage shirt. He

  picked up the cereal box that served as his emergency survival

  kit and headed for the door.

  Where are you going?

  None of your business, unless you want to come.

  How will I know whether I want to come if you don’t

  tell me where you’re going?

  Seth gave her a measuring stare. Promise to keep it a

  secret?

  Let me guess. Into the woods.

  Want to come?

  You’ll get Lyme disease, Kendra warned.

  Whatever. Ticks are everywhere. Same with poison

  ivy. If people let that stop them, nobody would ever go anywhere.

  But Grandpa Sorenson doesn’t want us in the woods,

  she protested.

  Grandpa isn’t going to be around all day. Nobody will

  know unless you blab.

  Don’t do this. Grandpa has been nice to us. We should

  obey him.

  You’re about as brave as a bucket of sand.

  What’s so brave about disobeying Grandpa?

  So you’re not coming?

  Kendra hesitated. No.

  Will you tell on me?

  If they ask where you are.

  I won’t be long.

  Seth walked out the door. She heard him tromp down

  the stairs.

  Kendra crossed to the nightstand. The handheld mirror

  rested on it beside the ring with the three tiny keys. She

  had spent a long time the night before trying to find what

  the keys fit. The biggest key opened a jewelry box on the

  dresser that was full of costume jewelry-fake diamond

  necklaces, pearl earrings, emerald pendants, sapphire rings,

  and ruby bracelets. She had not yet discovered what the

  other two opened.

  She picked up the keys. They were all small. The smallest

  was no longer than a thumbtack. Where could she find

  such a miniscule keyhole?

  The night before, she had spent most of her time on

  drawers and toy chests. Some of the drawers had keyholes,

  but they were already unlocked, and the keys did not fit.

  Same with the toy chests.

  The Victorian dollhouse caught her attention. What

  better place to find tiny keyholes than inside a little house?

  She unlatched the clasps and opened it, revealing two

  floors and several rooms full of miniature furniture. Five

  doll people lived in the house-a father, a mother, a son, a

  daughter, and a baby.

  The detail was extraordinary. The beds had quilts, blankets,

  sheets, and pillows. The couches had removable cushions.

  The knobs in the bathtub really turned. Closets had

  clothes hanging inside.

  The armoire in the dollhouse’s master bedroom made

  Kendra suspicious. It had a disproportionately large keyhole

  in the center. Kendra inserted the tiniest key and turned it.

  The doors of the armoire sprung open.

  Inside was something wrapped in gold foil-opening it,

  she saw it was a piece of chocolate shaped like a rosebud.

  Behind the chocolate she found a small golden key. She

  added it to the key ring. The golden key was larger than

  the key that opened the armoire, but smaller than the key

  that opened the jewelry box.

  Kendra took a bite of the chocolate rosebud. It was soft

  and melted in her mouth. It was the richest, creamiest

  chocolate she had ever tasted. She finished it in three more

  bites, savoring each mouthful.

  Kendra continued scouring the tiny house, investigating

  every piece of furniture, searching every closet, checking

  behind every miniature painting on the walls. Finding

  no more keyholes, she closed the dollhouse and fastened

  the clasps.

  Scanning the room, Kendra tried to decide where to

  look next. One key left, maybe two if the golden key also

  opened something. She had been through most of the

  items in the toy chests, but she could always double-check.

  She had searched through the drawers in the nightstands,

  dressers, and wardrobes thoroughly, as well as the knickknacks

  on the bookshelves. There could be keyholes in

  unlikely places, like under the clothes of a doll or behind a

  bedpost.

  Kendra ended up beside the telescope. Improbable as it

  seemed, she checked it for keyholes. Nothing.

  Maybe she could use the telescope to locate Seth.

  Opening the window, she noticed Dale walking along the

  lawn at the outskirts of the woods. He was carrying something

  in both hands, but his back was to her, impeding a

  view of what he held. He stooped and set it down behind

  a low hedge, which continued to prevent her from seeing

  the object. Dale walked off at a brisk pace, glancing around

  as if to ensure nobody was spying, and soon passed out of

  view.

  Curious, Kendra rushed downstairs and out the back

  door. Dale was nowhere in sight. She trotted across the

  lawn to the low hedge beneath the attic window. Grass

  continued for about six feet beyond the hedge before

  stopping abruptly at the perimeter of the forest. On the

  grass behind the hedge rested a large pie tin full of milk.

  An iridescent hummingbird hung suspended over the

  pie tin, wings a faint blur. Several butterflies flitted around

  the hummingbird. Occasionally one would descend and

  splash in the milk. The hummingbird flew away, and a

  dragonfly approached. It was a smaller crowd than the mirror

  had attracted, but there was much more activity than

  Kendra would have expected around a small pool of milk.

  She watched as a variety of tiny winged animals came

  and went, feeding from the pie tin. Did butterflies drink

  milk? Did dragonflies? Apparently so. It was not long before

  the level of milk in the pie tin had markedly fallen.

  Kendra looked up at the attic. It had only two windows,

  both facing the same side of the house. She visualized

  the room behind those gabled windows and suddenly

  realized that the playroom consumed only half the space

  the attic should fill.

  Abandoning the tin of milk, she walked around to the

  opposite side of the house. On the far side was a second

  pair of attic windows. She was right. There was another

  half to the attic. But she knew of no other stairway granting

  access to the uppermost story. Which meant there

  might be some sort of secret p
assage in the playroom!

  Maybe the final key unlocked it!

  Just as she decided to return to the attic and search for

  a hidden door, Kendra noticed Dale coming from the direction

  of the barn with another pie tin. She hurried toward

  him. When he saw her coming, he looked temporarily

  uncomfortable, then put on a big smile.

  What are you doing? Kendra asked.

  Just taking some milk to the house, he replied, changing

  direction a bit. He had been heading toward the woods.

  Really? Why’d you leave that other milk behind the

  hedge?

  Other milk? He could not have looked more guilty.

  Yeah. The butterflies were drinking it.

  Dale was no longer walking. He regarded Kendra

  shrewdly. Can you keep a secret?

  Sure.

  Dale looked around as if someone might be watching.

  We have a few milking cows. They make plenty of milk,

  so I put out some of the excess for the insects. Keeps the

  garden lively.

  Why’s that a secret?

  I’m not sure your grandfather would approve. Never

  asked permission. He might consider it wasteful.

  Seems like a good idea to me. I noticed all the different

  kinds of butterflies in your garden. More than I’ve ever

  seen. Plus all the hummingbirds.

  He nodded. I like it. Adds to the atmosphere.

  So you weren’t taking that milk to the house.

  No, no. This milk hasn’t been pasteurized. Full of bacteria.

  You could catch all sorts of diseases. Not fit for

  people. Insects, on the other hand, they seem to like it best

  this way. You won’t spoil my secret?

  I’ll keep quiet.

  Good girl, he said with a conspiratorial wink.

  Where are you putting that one?

  Over there. He jerked his head toward the woods. I

  set a few on the border of the yard every day.

  Does it spoil?

  I don’t leave it out long enough. Some days the insects

  consume all the milk before I collect the pans. Thirsty

  critters.

  See you later, Dale.

  You seen your brother hereabout?

  I think he’s in the house.

  That so?

  She shrugged. Maybe.

  Kendra turned and started toward the house. She

  glanced back as she mounted the stairs to the rear porch.

  Dale was placing the milk behind a small, round bush.

  The Ivy Shack

  Seth pressed through dense undergrowth until he

  reached a faint, crooked path, the kind made by animals.

  Nearby stood a squat, gnarled tree with thorny leaves

  and black bark. Seth examined his sleeves for ticks, scrutinizing

  the camouflage pattern. So far he had not seen a

  single tick. Of course, it would probably be the ticks he

  failed to see that would get him. He hoped the insect repellent

  he had sprayed on was helping.

  Stooping, he collected rocks and built a small pyramid

  to mark the point where he had intersected the path.

  Finding his way back would probably be no problem, but

  better safe than sorry. If he took too long, Grandpa might

  figure out he had disobeyed orders.

  Rummaging in his cereal box, Seth withdrew a

  compass. The animal track ran northeast. He had set off on

  an easterly course, but the undergrowth had grown denser

  as he progressed. A faint trail was a good excuse to veer

  slightly off course. It would be much easier going than trying

  to hack his way through shrubbery with a pocketknife.

  He wished he owned a machete.

  Seth followed the trail. The tall trees stood fairly close

  together, diffusing the sunlight into a greenish glow laced

  with shadows. Seth imagined that the forest would be black

  as a cave after nightfall.

  Something rustled in the bushes. He paused, removing

  a small pair of plastic binoculars from his cereal box.

  Scanning the area, he spotted nothing of interest.

  He proceeded along the trail until an animal emerged

  from the undergrowth onto the path not twenty feet ahead.

  It was a round, bristly creature no taller than his knees. A

  porcupine. The animal started down the path in his direction

  with complete confidence. Seth froze. The porcupine

  was close enough that he could discern the individual

  quills, slender and sharp.

  As the animal trundled toward him, Seth backed away.

  Weren’t animals supposed to flee from humans? Maybe it

  had rabies. Or maybe it just hadn’t see him. After all, he

  was wearing a camouflage shirt.

  Seth spread his arms wide, stomped a foot, and growled.

  The porcupine looked up, twitched its nose, and then

  turned from the path. Seth listened as it pushed through

  foliage away from the trail.

  He took a deep breath. He had been really scared for a

  minute there. He could almost feel the quills pricking

  through his jeans into his leg. It would be pretty hard to

  conceal his excursion into the woods if he came home

  looking like a pincushion.

  Though he dreaded admitting it, he wished Kendra had

  come. The porcupine probably would have made her

  scream, and her fear would have increased his bravery. He

  could have made fun of her instead of feeling frightened

  himself. He had never seen a porcupine in the wild before.

  He was surprised how exposed he felt staring at all those

  pointy quills. What if he stepped on one in the undergrowth?

  He looked around. He had come a long way. Of course,

  finding his way back would be no trick. He just needed to

  backtrack along the trail and then head west. But if he

  turned for home now, he might never make it back this

  way again.

  Seth continued along the trail. Some of the trees had

  moss and lichen growing on them. A few had ivy twisting

  around their bases. The path forked. Checking his compass,

  Seth saw that one path went northwest, the other due east.

  Staying with his theme, Seth turned east.

  There began to be more space between the trees, and

  the shrubs grew closer to the ground. Soon he could see

  much farther in all directions, and the forest became a little

  brighter. To one side of the path, at the limit of his sight,

  he noticed something abnormal. It looked like a large

  square of ivy hidden among the trees. The whole point of

  exploring the woods was to find strange things, so he left

  the path and walked toward the ivy square.

  The dense undergrowth came up to his shins, grasping

  at his ankles with every step. As he tromped toward the

  square, he realized it was a structure completely overgrown

  with ivy. It appeared to be a big shed.

  He stopped and looked more closely. The ivy was thick

  enough that he could not tell what the shed was made of ——

  he could see only leafy vines. He walked around the structure.

  On the far side a door stood open. Seth almost cried

  out when he peered inside.

  The shed was actually a shack constructed around a

  large tree stump. Beside the stump, dressed in crude rags,

  sat a wiry old
woman gnawing at a knot in a bristly rope.

  Shriveled with age, she clutched the rope in bony hands

  with knobby knuckles. Her long, white hair was matted

  and had a sickly yellowish tint. One of her filmy eyes was

  terribly bloodshot. She was missing teeth, and there was

  blood on the knot she was chewing, apparently from her

  gums. Her pale arms, bare almost to the shoulder, were thin

  and wrinkled, with faint blue veins and a few purple scabs.

  When the woman saw Seth, she dropped the rope

  immediately, wiping pink saliva from the corners of her

  meager lips. Supporting herself against the stump, she stood

  up. He noticed her long feet, the color of ivory, peppered

  with insect bites. Her gray toenails looked thick with

  fungus.

  Hail, young master, what brings you to my home? Her

  voice was incongruently melodious and smooth.

  For a moment, Seth could only stare. Even as bent and

  crooked as she was, the woman was tall. She smelled bad.

  You live out here? he finally said.

  I do. Care to come inside?

  Probably not. I’m just out for a walk.

  The woman narrowed her eyes. Strange place for a boy

  to walk alone.

  I like exploring. My grandpa owns this land.

  Owns it, you say?

  Does he know you’re here? asked Seth.

  Depends who he is.

  Stan Sorenson.

  She grinned. He knows.

  The rope she had chewed lay on the dirt floor. It had

  one other knot besides the one she had been gnawing.

  Why were you biting the rope? Seth asked.

  She eyed him suspiciously. I don’t care for knots.

  Are you a hermit?

  You could say that. Come inside and I will brew some

  tea.

  I better not.

  She looked down at her hands. I must look frightful.

  Let me show you something. She turned and crouched

  behind the stump. A rat ventured a few steps out of a hole

  in a corner of the shack. When she came back from behind

  the stump, the rat hid.

  The old woman sat with her back to the stump. She

  held a little wooden puppet about nine inches high. It

  looked primitive, made entirely of dark wood, with no

  clothes or painted features. Just a basic human figure with

  tiny gold hooks serving as joints. The puppet had a stick in

  its back. The woman set a paddle on her lap. She began

  making the puppet dance by bobbing the stick and tapping

  the paddle. There was a musical regularity to the rhythm.

  What is that thing? Seth asked.

  A limberjack, she replied.