Serial Saturday: "Cipherstalker", Part 16

Karthey sat at the booth in miserable silence. Cramwell had seated her at his booth, limped to the counter to pay for his coffee—then her father had walked in, and it was all Karthey could do not to leap into his arms at first sight. She sat as Cramwell had ordered her to, staring at the table, making eye contact with no one, even though she could feel their stares and hear their whispers from across the room. She kept her head bent, and fervently hoped she would not have to endure the pain of her father recognizing her—just in time to hear him cry, “Karthey!”

            Karthey winced; every time she considered looking at him, even acknowledging his presence, her cell phone would buzz. She knew what it said; the same thing Cramwell had been texting her every time he saw her wanting to interact with anyone: “Remember your promise.” Karthey was not about to break her word, for fear of losing the privilege of ever coming to town again. It was becoming harder to do so, even as her father persisted in speaking to her.

            “Karthey! Golly, I miss you! Are you doing well? Why won’t you speak to me? We’ve made progress, Karthey! We’re trying to figure out who the kidnapper is. Your mother misses you, Derrik misses you—we all wish you were back home. Aren’t you going to at least say hello to me?” He leaned forward and grabbed her hand.

            Karthey tensed and tried to get Cramwell’s attention with her eyes, staring at him hard enough that he looked up finally. She begged him with such a pitiful expression that he finally relented only slightly and nodded.

            Karthey looked at her father, “Hi Dad,” she said quietly.

            Her father seemed ecstatic at the reaction. “Oh, Karthey!” He reached with his other arm as if he was going to try and embrace her while she sat in the booth, but just then, Cramwell finished his coffee and cleared his throat.

            Mr. Mavis took the hint and backed away from the table. Karthey felt the pain in her chest as her father left, and knew he must feel the same way about leaving her there.

            Only a bit behind the normal schedule of the day, Karthey and Cramwell went to the library at eleven o’clock. Cramwell went to the Nonfiction section and was elated to discover a new book of codes and ciphers. He read for almost a half-hour, while Karthey amused herself with whatever she could find around her, and proceeded to the front desk to check out the book.

            At the counter, as Cecil helped Cramwell, Taylor approached Karthey with a strange look on his face. Keeping a wary eye on Cramwell, he hurriedly slipped a folded piece of paper across the counter and into Karthey’s hand. Karthey covertly slid the paper into her pocket and wondered what it could be as they walked together to the diner.

            Cramwell walked into the diner and stopped short. Something was wrong; what was it? His white lunch bag stood where it always did, on the counter right behind the register. Cramwell dug the appropriate amount of cash to pay for it and laid it on the counter, but did not touch the bag. Something stopped him.

            Mrs. Preston was not there; had she been there yesterday? He was so used to ignoring her that her boisterous voice had become as natural as the bell that hung over the door and rang when he walked in. He remembered the note he had found amidst the soup cans at the grocery store the day before, warning him that someone he knew would disappear. Had it really been referring to Mrs. Preston, of all people? Cramwell allowed his eyes to scan around the counter; there was no sign of the chatty woman anywhere, and the girl standing behind the counter (Charity Grace; he had seen her in the census) looked nervous enough to confirm Cramwell’s fears. Gruffly, he snatched the bag, waited for Karthey to select a bagel and an orange for herself, and escorted her to the park.

            Karthey was nervous to see Cramwell revert to such a thorny demeanor. She hung back as he marched toward the back of the park out of habit. He sat down on the bench, and motioned for her to do the same. Karthey sat stiffly at the opposite end of the bench. Cramwell was soon absorbed in his lunch, so Karthey found the opportunity to covertly pull the note out of her pocket. Instantly, she recognized the handwriting inside. It was from her father.

Dear Karthey, it read, I wanted to tell you how proud I am of your bravery in remaining where you are. You are safe, my darling. I want to congratulate you, too, on your excellent sleuthing skills. I hope Mr. Fornberg has not discovered our covert operation, but I know you, and I don’t believe he ever will because you are so clever.

I have narrowed the list of suspects down to a handful of people Cramwell knew back in London, who might have reason or motive for serial abductions. A lot of them are still in jail for other crimes; if you find anything that might help narrow down the list, please leave a note for me at the library when you go this afternoon. I love you. –Your father

            Karthey smiled; he had left her plenty of blank paper to write her own note on, and she knew where to find a cup of pens at the library counter. What sorts of things could she pass on to her father, though? Everything she’d discovered in the past few days had to do with Cramwell, not the kidnappings! Yet the more she thought about it as Cramwell finished his lunch and the two of them walked back to the library, the more she reasoned that perhaps what she had learned had more to do with the kidnappings than she realized, or perhaps what she had learned would at least help them narrow down their list of suspects. Since the kidnapper seemed to be so closely connected with Cramwell, perhaps the more her dad knew of Cramwell, the greater their chances of success would be.

            Karthey and Cramwell arrived at the edge of the Square and began to walk across. Karthey kept her head down as Cramwell did, so as not to engage anyone, but she could still see people stop and stare at them, pointing and whispering about her and about him. It made her so uncomfortable she could not restrain an involuntary squirm. She saw Cramwell’s eyes flicker toward her as he saw the movement.

            “The people point and stare a lot,” she explained in a low voice as they entered the library, “it makes me nervous.”

            “That’s the way people always act,” he replied as if they’d been on speaking terms this whole time, “Welcome to my world.”

            Karthey was so mortified at this revelation that she almost forgot to follow him into the Reading Nook. Just in time, she remembered the note to her father. She left Cramwell absorbed in a novel, and meandered her way to the check-out counter, where Zack nodded to her knowingly. Karthey selected a pen from the cup on the counter and drew her father’s note out of her pocket. She tore off the bottom, blank part and thought carefully about what she should write in the limited space. After a minute, she smiled; she knew.

Jelilah drowned.

Cramwell not to blame.

He hates red.

Mrs. Preston gone.

I love you.

Karthey

            There! Just enough room for that much. Karthey knew her dad could use this information; she just hoped it was help enough for him. She handed the note to Zack and returned to Cramwell.

            He sat just as she had left him, intensely absorbed in his book. She saw his brow furrowed; was he worried about something—did he know she was passing messages behind his back? True to form, however, he never responded to her all the time he read. Karthey saw Zack leave the counter, and Kayla took over for him. Karthey watched the young man slip on a coat and head out the door. Perhaps he was delivering her message? Karthey could only sit and wonder for two more hours. When it was time to leave, Cramwell tucked his book under his arm, stood, and offered his other arm to Karthey. She took it, they proceeded to check-out, and they left the library straight for the grocery store.

            At the grocery store, Karthey followed Cramwell around the bins as he selected foods for the evening and the following day. She wandered behind him, studying the pattern in the weave of his tweed coat, the way he tapped his cane every third step, and the strange shuffling way he—

            Karthey stopped at the end of the canned foods aisle, where a column of stickers and rubber stamps was located. Someone had very deliberately arranged seven alphabet stamps to spell out “K-A-R-T-H-E-Y.” She inspected it closer. There was a note tucked just behind it, from her dad! He must have known Cramwell would be absorbed in choosing his cans, which would give her time to grab the note. Keeping one eye on Cramwell, Karthey pretended to survey the items on display, running her fingers over the rubber stamps and messing them up (in case he might see them), and deftly seizing the note behind them with her fingertips. Quickly, she pushed it into her pocket and continued her perusal as if nothing was out of the ordinary, and she was just as bored as ever.

            Cramwell paid for his groceries, and the pair proceeded toward the foot of Fornberg Hill.

            Just when they had made it out of town, Cramwell erupted abruptly, “What news from your father?”

            Karthey turned her head toward him guiltily; truly? For all she had done to be so clandestine, he had known all along? Or perhaps he was trying to trap her. “I don’t know,” she answered.

            Cramwell huffed, “Miss Mavis, merely because I do not interact with anyone does not mean I am wholly unaware of their movements, particularly of late, and especially of you. Has your father made any progress in working with the police to solve this case? I must have any information he has passed on to you.”

            Karthey thought about the note in her pocket. As Cramwell unlocked the gate leading to Fornberg Hill, she expressed a proposition.

            “What if we were to work on this case together?”

            Cramwell stopped and looked her over dubiously. “Together?” he stuttered, “You want to work with me, and you think that will help solve the case?”

            Karthey rolled her eyes at his apparent prejudice, “Yes!” she sighed, “And I think we ought to do it in person, no more texting like we have been.” Her fear of Cramwell Fornberg was almost completely gone in her enthusiasm to be able to at last make progress and answer the questions that had been bothering her so much for over a week now.

            Cramwell hesitated. Clearly he did not think her capable of such sleuthing; but hadn’t he seen all that she had done over the last week at his house? Didn’t he remember that he had in his desk the very paper that Karthey had written, with all the details of the first four victims?

            “Miss Mavis,” he began, but she stopped him there on his doorstep, ready to be firm with him for once.

            “For the record,” she informed him, “my name is Karthey.”

            “Yes I know,” he replied quickly; she could tell he was still thinking over her offer furiously. “But—Karthey—are you sure you can be an adequate asset? This is a very volatile, highly sensitive situation, and you are only collateral, a temporary guest uninvolved with the case itself.”

            Karthey was unconvinced. She fixed those icy-blue eyes with the same stare from her hazel ones. “I can do it. Will you let me?”

            Cramwell Fornberg sighed heavily. “All right,” he acquiesced, “but we don’t start until tomorrow. Leave me alone for tonight, and we will meet in the morning.”

            Karthey nodded, “All right.”

            Cramwell opened the front door for her and allowed her to step through first. She made for the kitchen as Cramwell went to the library.

            “Cramwell,” Karthey called before she went through the door.

            He had just reached the library door; he paused without turning around.

            “Thank you,” she said.

            He nodded his head.

<<<<<Previous          Next>>>>>

Works-In-Progress Wednesday: "A Writer's Tale", Extended Version!

Some of you who have been with me since very early may remember the Saturday Series I did featuring my NaNoWriMo 2012 project, A Writer's Tale. (Go to this page and scroll down to the second bank of links if you want a refresher, or if you missed it the first time!)

While the novel started out as a single serial novel, I am currently working on expanding the stories to be individual novellas, which would be the version I would potentially try to get published.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy reading these couple little excerpts as much as I enjoyed writing them!


>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
 

“What?” Zenni cried, following Yellow-Dress up to my face. “How do you know it’s trying to communicate? For all we know, this could just be a creature that makes random noises.”

Yellow-Dress huffed. “Well, I want to find out what it is saying, so somebody bring me a berry!”

Another fairy with long, dark hair and a red dress flew up in front of my face with a berry as big as her head. Gently, she tucked it between my lips, and obediently, I bit down.

The sweet, tangy juice flooded my mouth. I tasted blueberries, and a hint of savory cinnamon. It was altogether delicious—then it entered my throat. A transformation occurred, and it felt as if a fireball was working its way toward my stomach. I gagged in surprise, but, as the berry was already swallowed, there was nothing to choke back up. Whatever I had consumed along with the berry (or perhaps it was a strange naturally occurring aftertaste of the berry) tasted like the spiciest peppers imaginable and overwhelmed my taste buds.

           

“Water!” I gasped, careless of whether the fairies understood me, “water!”

Two fairies flew up, bearing between them a bowl-shaped leaf filled with a clear, fizzing liquid that tasted like apples and refreshed my mouth. Yellow-Dress returned, flying so close to my nose that I had to cross my eyes to look at her.

“We are sorry to cause you such discomfort,” she said. “Most creatures do not mind the taste of fairy dust. Please tell us, if you can, what sort of creature are you? I have seen nearly all the different kinds Phantasm holds, but never one like you, of your size and color. I dare say you could stand on the ground and look a unicorn in the eye!”

The burning was gone, but I knew my throat was going to be tender for a long while. My tongue still tingled as I croaked out, “I’m, uh, human.”

Suddenly I felt a crawling sensation over my fingers, which stuck out behind me through my bonds. Remembering the spider-imp things from the night before, I freaked out just a little.

“What’s that?” I yelped, twisting my head futilely. “I think those imp things are—“

Before I could finish, a small, human-like body crawled up my shoulder in front of my face.

“Gah!” I cried, and the little man grimaced before clamping two hands over my lips.

“No claws or sharp teeth to report, Your Majesty!” he said. “I think the most dangerous thing about this yoo-min is her very loud voice and very large body.”

There were more small bodies now landing on my head and shoulders and crawling down my back, but unlike the ones from before, who were naked and barefoot, these wore clothes and boots. I would have thought they were more of those fairies, except these ones did not have wings.

“Then, by all means,” the royal fairy replied to the little man, “release her.”

The same moment as she gave the order, the sticky vines all but melted off my body so fast, I could have sworn I hung in midair for a split second before my free fall.

“A

 A

A

U

U

U

G

H

H

H

!

!

!”

>>>>>>>>>>

 I jumped to my feet when I heard the thundering hooves. The creature trotting toward the glade was so brilliantly white that I could barely make out the shape in the sunlight. As it stepped into the shade of the trees, I saw the milky-white horn protruding from the center of its forehead. The hooves sparkled in the sunlight like brushed pewter.
[...]

He stopped when he caught sight of me standing there in the grass.

“And what is this?” he asked in a smooth, rolling kind of voice. He swung his head from side to side to get a good look at me with both his eyes. Seeing a unicorn was so dreamlike, I almost couldn’t move, for fear everything around me would vanish into nothingness.

“I… I—“ I couldn’t for the life of me get the words out! Why was I so nervous all of a sudden? The unicorn was more like an affable old gentleman, who would ordinarily not be intimidating in the least!

Jerak swung his head over to Perissa, “I thought you gave it fairy dust; why then does it speak another language still?”

“She’s not really talking right now, Jerak,” Perissa explained. “If I am reading her expression correctly, I rather think she’s nervous.”

“Nervous?” There was a hint of whinny in the unicorn’s voice as he responded with surprise. “Whatever could it have to be nervous about? Normally, beings feel safer with the Guardians about!”

“I’m sorry!” It took a lot of effort to force the words out, but once they came, the rest followed easily. “It’s just that I’ve never met a unicorn before—nor a fairy, nor an elf, for that matter.”

“Hullo, it speaks!” Jerak resumed studying me. “I suppose I ought to have begun with a proper introduction. My name is Jerak; what might we call you, creature?”

"Laura," I answered.

"Ah," said the unicorn, nodding his head, "and, my good lorra, what is your name?"

I blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You don't have a name?" asked Jerak.

"I do, it's just--My name is Laura."

Jerak pranced in embarrassment. "Oh, I'm sorry, I misunderstood."

"She's a human, Jerak," Perissa supplied.

"Indeed?" the unicorn blinked twice and leaned forward to sniff me carefully. "Hmm, not a scent I recognize; how very fascinating! Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Laura!"

>>>>>>>>>>>

 

            The next morning, I awoke and completely forgot where I was. All I could think was that I had walked to the big park on the other side of town from my apartment, and had spent the night there in an effort to get “closer to the wild.” I glanced around; the ground was very wet, as if it had rained the previous night, but underneath the large blanket I was sandwiched in, my own clothes had stayed completely dry. I was wearing clothes from the day before—but now they were badly rumpled and streaked with a strange-smelling black goo. I couldn’t think where it had come from.

“Laura?”

I heard my name, and rolled over to find the warm, moist snout of a horse in my face. No, not a horse—horses didn’t have horns.

“Good morning,” said the unicorn.

I screamed and scrambled a few paces backward before I remembered the events of the day before.

“What’s wrong?” Jerak pranced a few steps nervously.

I could feel my arms still shaking from the shock. I sat up, wrapped my arms around my knees, and bent my head forward.

“Oh, I’ve had about enough of this!” I groaned. “Just go ahead and send me back.”

Jerak bent his head and nosed the knapsack sitting on the ground. “Back where?” he asked, tossing his head so his forelock flipped to the other side of his horn.

“To my own world!” I said, sitting up and facing him. “I get it, okay? I’ll go back to my typewriter, write a fantasy story about this world, and voila! I have exactly the unexpected thing my editor and publishers are looking for.” I stood up and started tugging at my shirt. The goo stuck like craft glue. “How am I ever going to get this off?” I wondered.

“Laura,” Jerak blinked at me, turning his head back and forth to get a clear view of me, “I don’t have any idea how to get you back to your world. Might you try retracing the path you took to get here?”

I sat on a nearby rock, tossing a pebble and scattering a crowd of what looked like tiny multicolored puffballs. “Now that would be impossible.”

Jerak took a few hesitant steps closer. “Perhaps you might have a greater purpose here that you haven’t discovered yet.”

I slapped my knee and stood again. “Then let’s discover it quick so I can get back to normal life!”

“All right,” he conceded. “Breakfast first!"
>>>>>>>>

Poetry Tuesday: The Shepherd Knight

On a wondrous summer day,

I saw a marvelous sight

Galloping o'er hill and dale,

I saw a stalwart knight;

he rode astride a powerful steed,

a beast fit to bear his master,

The wind, it sought to drive him back,

but the knight persevered all the faster.

On that summer's day, I saw the knight,

I watched him from afar,

A dragon rose, with scales so bright,

they shone just like the stars;

The dragon roared, with fearsome fire

he claimed the kingdom, all:

"No hero may stand before my ire,

I rule! Fear me and fall!"

The knight, he stood upon the ground,

His head unhelmed he there;

His armor he cast all around,

and faced the dragon, bare.

"You say I am a hero, worm,"

The stalwart youth declared,

"Yet here I show you my true form,

and tell you, I'm not scared!"

"Only a sheep-herd they send to me?"

The dragon cried in a rage,

"Will you herd me, like a lowly beast,

will you close me in a cage?

I am the mighty dragon-lord,

King above all kings!

The seas are in my flagon stored,

I feast upon all things!"

"Not so, foul worm," the shepherd cried,

"A KING doth reign on high,

Who rules o'er earth, the seasons, the tide,

Whom you shall not defy!

You say you have a fearsome wrath,

You threaten to scorch the land;

but MY KING, Who sent me down this path

has given you into my hand!"

"See, even now I have no shield,

My horse you have devoured;

but to MY KING you must needs yield,

or die within the hour."

The dragon scorned, "Thou puny cur!

Within my emerald claw,

I'll crush you, boy! You dare not stir!

You'll die between my jaws!"

The dragon bent his mighty head,

to fulfill his boastful word,

Yet in his haste to make him dead,

the dragon forgot the sword;

The youth, still holding his weapon fast,

cried, "Oh King, deliver Thou me!"

From within the throat he cut, till at last,

'Twas daylight he could see.

And so it was, that mighty youth

cut off the dragon's head;

In spite of fire and boasts, forsooth!

The awful beast was dead.

The shepherd-youth returned to town,

and behold, the people cheered,

"Our humble hero has thrown down

the monster we all feared!"

The youth proclaimed, "Good people, hear!

List to my voice's sound!

You have no need for dread or fear

when THE KING ON HIGH bears His Crown!

'Twas He Who gave me the strength to fight,

But for Him I would have none;

My armor, my steed, my sword, my might,

Could not do what MY KING has done.

"This day, let us give thanks to Him,

for this, His latest act!

And sing His praises, psalms and hymns,

And trust His Word as fact!

No power there is that can prevail,

when He says, "THOU SHALT NOT."

'Tis He who makes the warrior hale,

in Him should strength be sought."

I tell this tale upon this hour

To remind all you who hear:

'Tis humble faith wherein lies power,

not arrogance, wealth, or fear!

So trust this day in the King on High,

Almighty is His Name!

Then when false dragons rise up nigh, 

You, too, can do the same! 

Serial Saturday: "Cipherstalker" Part 15

“I know you, Miss Mavis,” Cramwell continued icily, “I heard you last night, and I knew you would be back.” Cramwell took a step toward her, and as he continued to speak, first his hands and then his whole body began to shake—but was it anger, or fear? His voice was harsh and hard, “I pretended to leave, and then I watched you deliberately enter the library. I watched you on the camera, snooping, feeling, prying, digging, scratching with your fingernails, doing everything you could to get into the one place in this house I have forbidden time and again!”

            Karthey could not take her eyes off of Cramwell Fornberg, and as he stood before her, shaking and staring and glaring and seething, she knew fear. Before this time, she only feared what she did not know about him. Now, to see him so angry, so violated, and she had been the one to make him so, she genuinely feared him.

            By now, Cramwell was standing in front of the armchair, and he sank into it, completely worn out from his outburst. Karthey saw pain, saw weariness, and saw deep, interminable hurt. This was what Cramwell carried about with him every day as he went into town, avoiding eyes and comments, and retreated the minute he finished to his sanctuary where Jelilah awaited him. More than her fear, now, Karthey wanted to know what had really happened to Jelilah; she wanted to know the truth instead of the stories she had heard growing up. But would the words come? Would he answer?

            “What—“ Karthey fought to bring up the words as Cramwell picked up his head, “What happened to her?”

            Cramwell fixed Karthey with that weird stare that never failed to fill her with dread—but she saw that behind it were the still-warm embers of love. Cramwell turned his gaze to the face of his wife.

*From deviantart.net;
this couple inspired the Fornbergs!

            “We…” his voice was no more willing to leave his mouth than hers had been. “My Jelly and I were at the seaside. We had been married one year—it was our first anni…anniversary.” Cramwell’s eyes dropped and locked in a wide-eyed stare as he relived the details of that day, and his voice warmed to a tone Karthey had never heard him use before; come to think of it, she had never heard anyone use the tone of voice Cramwell did now. His voice never faltered once while he described his dear wife.

            “Jelly loved the seaside; I loved to watch her, to be with her, to feel her arms in mine, to feel her pull me along with her as she ran into the surf again and again, to hear her laugh echo in my hears, to see that wonderful, glorious smile that made her whole face shine like starlight. Then one day—“ Cramwell’s voice caught, and the warmth dissipated; just like that, he reverted back to his old, terse way of speaking. “We would have stayed two days longer; the tide was in…it was just going out. A storm was coming in, but it hadn’t—arrived yet. But the breakers…the sea was rolling, the white foam stood on every wave, crashing upon the shore. I stayed—oh! I should have gone with her! But the crashing sea made me afraid, I stayed back on shore. Jelilah wanted to run in the surf again—why couldn’t she listen?”

            Karthey had been staring at the painting during this time, but at a strange sound from Cramwell she looked up in surprise. Tears stood in his eyes as he stared at Jelilah’s face. Karthey wondered if he had forgotten her, and was lost in his memories now, memories he had never uttered since they first occurred, the memories that had so burdened his soul and made him the reclusive hermit he was. Cramwell continued.

            “She ran out—she wore that same white dress—she ran out, calling, and waving at me. She wanted me to come with her, she ran into the water so that her dress was drenched and clung to her body. But Jelly didn’t care. She loved every minute of it. She loved the power of the water. She just kept going, deeper and deeper, turning back, reaching back, deeper again, turning, reaching—“ Cramwell was weeping in earnest now, and Karthey longed to reach out and comfort him, but she dared not, for fear of incurring his wrath in his fragile emotional state.

            “A wave came, it seemed to cover her up. I thought I saw her arms, still reaching for me…and then—“ Cramwell covered his face with his hands at the sheer horror of it, “—she screamed. When the wave went back out, I couldn’t see her any more.” Cramwell dropped his hands and seemed to recover his composure in an instant. He looked back at Karthey and continued flatly, “The undertow had caught her, and carried her under. By the time I ran out to search for her, she was gone. The tide went out, and I never saw her again.” Cramwell sighed and did not look at the painting (thought Karthey saw that he most likely very much wanted to) as he informed her, “She dared to taunt Nature with her carefree attitude, and Nature swallowed her in one gulp. That is why I keep to a schedule, and do the same things I have done since returning to Precinct. It is—“ he hesitated, obviously thinking of the kidnappings, “—safer for me, that way.” His eyes shifted from side to side, as if he considered himself surrounded at all time by unseen demons who waited on his every side for his foot to stray so they could work their mischief.

            As Karthey watched the man, it seemed as if the tall, looming “monster” façade seemed to melt away, and she saw him vulnerable, alone, full of fear. She sought to empower and embolden him. She realized that this might be a moment of opportunity no one else in Precinct had or could ever have—the chance to speak with Cramwell Fornberg. She had his ear—she, Karthey Mavis! He was not brushing her off, shooing her away, or communicating via text message. He was speaking to her, and more importantly, with her. She carefully leaned forward, not daring to take her eyes off him.

            “So many people in Precinct are afraid of you,” she told Cramwell, “they are just as afraid as you are. Some even believe you are a ghost. This is what fear does.”

            Cramwell fixed his eyes on the girl before him who spoke to him as no one else had done since—well, for a very long time. “How do you mean?” he queried.

            Karthey wondered at this open invitation to continue speaking, but she determined not to let it go to waste. “Fear robs a person of life. When you live out of fear, it’s not living at all.”

            “Are you saying that I must throw my life to the dogs in order to really live?” Cramwell asserted. “The very idea behind keeping set hours and a private schedule is to preserve my years as much as possible.”

            Karthey paused to ponder Cramwell’s words; all this time everyone had assumed guilt was the only reason one would choose to live such a secluded life, when he was really doing it out of self-preservation. She thought back to all the discussions she had with her father about life.

            “Life,” she stated, “is not about taking all risks, nor is it about taking no risks. Your life is not safer because you do not think you take risks. Just look at the way you’ve been getting notes all week. Life is about taking the risks that make us grow, Mr. Fornberg. To a baby, walking is a risk; to a duckling, swimming is a risk; to a bird, flying is a risk; yet all these things are necessary for their development, for their lives.”

            For one fleeting moment, Karthey and Cramwell locked eyes, but then Cramwell blinked, and the moment was over.

            “That will be all, Miss Mavis,” he said coldly. He would not look at her again.

           

            Karthey stood and left the cloister. Had anything she said made any sort of impression, or was it all for nothing? She wandered out of the library, but just as she reached the top of the right-hand stairs, Cramwell emerged from the east hallway.

            “Miss Mavis!” he commanded.

            Karthey obediently stopped and turned.

            He stared at her, his lips moving, but no sound came. After several moments, he awkwardly dug his cell phone out of his pocket and began typing. Karthey patiently waited until he had finished and sent it, then withdrew her own phone when it vibrated.

Please accompany me into town today, Miss Mavis.

            Karthey looked back to Cramwell, to try to ascertain the meaning of this unexpected request. He was allowing her to go into town? When all this time she thought she would have to stay cooped up on the hill until the police apprehended the culprit? Cramwell, however, had his head bent down again, and was still texting.

            “Yes,” Karthey told him, in answer to his first text, as she waited for the second one. It came in short order.

           

You will remain at my side the entire time, and you must not speak to anyone.

That will be all.

            He was looking at her when she finished. Karthey felt a rush of warmth in her cheeks as she dared to smile at Cramwell Fornberg.

            “Thank you!” she cried as she ran down the steps for her coat and scarf. She was going with Cramwell, and she couldn’t speak to anyone (evidently Cramwell really had no idea that she was already talking with Derrik every day, so these restrictions, if they were meant to be heavy, were nothing of the sort), but at least she could see Precinct again, with her own eyes! Nothing about Cramwell’s stony resistance to her could ever dampen the anticipation she felt as they descended the Hill side by side.

<<<>>>

 

            Mr. Mavis frowned and let his head drop into his hands. His elbows rested on piles of paper in front of him. On each piece of paper were several lists, theories, hypotheses—all concerning Cramwell Fornberg and the kidnappings. So many things didn’t add up!

            Derrik had been faithful in bringing everything Karthey said to him. He had been grateful to get the note from her, and every day it encouraged his heart to hear how his daughter was working just as hard as he was—with far less information. Mr. Mavis pushed away from his desk and walked over to the map of Precinct he had pinned up, with Karthey’s note tacked to the corner, right where he could see it, even though he had already memorized every word, he read it so much.

            Derrik had informed him that Karthey noted Cramwell making a map of at least twenty different people and their specific routes through the town, so Mr. Mavis had done his best to make one of his own, marking down a list of peak times of “people-traffic” both the largest volumes of people coming and people going from almost every business establishment in town. That had to be it—the kidnapper must have chosen times of light traffic or heavy, depending on the location.

            The street corner angle had thought to provide a pattern, because “Clarissa’s corner” had been near the grocery store, where Colby disappeared, and Colby in turn had been last seen near the diner, where Alivia had last visited before being last seen in the Square near the library, where Cherry disappeared—but Cherry had not been on a street corner at all!

            Together, father and son had then come up with the angle that perhaps the kidnapper was a previous acquaintance of Cramwell’s. Getting evidence from Cramwell’s past from London had not been a picnic. So many forms to fill out! Mr. Mavis reflected gratefully that at least they could use e-mail, which was much faster than having to ship everything over the Atlantic. He had the list of everyone who went to school with Cramwell from primary to university. Mr. Mavis had noticed the name Jelilah Hammond on the list of university students, as an American exchange student. Wasn’t that the name of Cramwell’s wife? Now he knew where they met, at any rate.

            According to Derrik, Karthey had also mentioned something about the death of Cramwell’s wife affecting him deeply—but what did that have to do with the kidnappings? Mr. Mavis dismissed it from his mind with a shake of the head. He glanced at the clock on his wall. It was almost ten-thirty. He needed some coffee; so what if Cramwell would be at the café? If he walked slowly enough, Mr. Mavis was sure he could arrive in time to see the old codger leave.

            Mr. Mavis strode out of City Hall and across the Square to the café. He pushed open the door, stepped back to let Mr. and Mrs. Gardner out, and walked straight to the counter.

            “Hey, Beth,” he said to the petite brunette at the cash register, “can I get a medium caramel sauce Americano?”

            Beth smiled, but behind the grin something strange hovered in her expression. “Sure thing, Mr. Mavis. You want whip on that?” She kept glancing at something over his shoulder.

            “Sure,” Mr. Mavis was beginning to be distracted by the fact that Beth was distracted herself.

            Beth shook away whatever had been bothering her, and she rang up Mr. Mavis’ order. “That’ll be $3.15,” she said, “Go ahead and have a seat, and I’ll bring it to your table.”

            “Thanks, Beth!” Mr. Mavis turned to grab one of the booths lining the café walls. He stopped short. “Karthey?” he gasped.

<<<<<Previous          Next>>>>>

Monthly Reading List: May

(*Listed in the order pictured)
Wizard of Earthsea (Ursula K. LeGuin)

This book definitely exceeded my expectations. Ged is a character I would not mind following.
It begins uniquely enough: chronicling the background of a Wizard from before he became powerful. The predominant principle of magic, it seems, is knowing the "true name" of something, speaking to the very core of its essence to really be able to control and direct it. There is a very solid morality, signaling that the forces of evil and good are more than mere choices we make, or two sides of the same coin; they are separate entities that must remain in balance. You let evil take over too much and the consequences are grave indeed. (Of course now that I say that, I am wondering if the same cautions apply to letting good overrun one's logic; I suppose moralism never has to address that half, because really, no one is ever apt to being overwhelmed with the desire to do good acts repeatedly and vigorously)
"A Wizard of Earthsea" follows Ged, a young man with a youthful rashness and a thirst for ultimate power that led to one ill-timed spell that unleashed a terror on the world that should never have existed. He is forced to run from this shadow, and yet it follows him from place to place.
The setting of the novel is plenty unique: several island groups rather than one continuous inland country. The characters are distinct, the descriptions are very vivid, the language is sound, and I felt like all in all this book is a good introduction to something promising.

"H" is for Homicide (Sue Grafton)

Once again, it's a mystery of epic proportions that lands Kinsey in a string of troubles, one after the other. For this job, someone at the insurance firm where she works has been murdered, and he might be connected with a woman who had a habit of submitting false claims. Everything seems to be running smoothly—till Kinsey's efforts at winning the woman's trust land them in jail together—after which the woman invites Kinsey into the house of her ex-boyfriend, a Tourette's-afflicted crime boss who is running the insurance scam by staging car accidents. Kinsey has to live as "the other half" with no idea if or how she will ever return to the life she had always known...
A riveting, rousing adventure from start to finish, and full of the Kinsey Millhone panache! Whether she's making friends with her host's vicious guard dog, or critiquing him on the credibility of his fraudulent claim forms, Kinsey handles it all with very little backup and a whole lot of spunk.


Midnight Pearls (Debbie Viguiè)

A sweet, innocent story every bit as enchanting as the original. A childless couple, a coastal kingdom, a stormy night... And the catch of a lifetime: a young girl with extraordinarily pale hair and skin and extraordinarily long legs. She is raised fearing water, feeling like a foreigner in her own community, befriended by the only person outside her family who doesn't sneer at her for being different: he happens to be the crown prince. One day, her whole life turns around when she meets two strangers--one is blind, the other mute--who seem to know her by a different name, and who claim to be former mermaids who received their human shape from a sea witch who took the aforementioned senses as payment. Also involved is a rather nefarious plot by a double-dealing duke who is interested in usurping the royal crown, and has just the innocent pawns conveniently positioned to help his plan along...
The book thrilled me from start to finish. I wanted to read it over again... and I want to read others like it. I want to read every single one of these re-told fairy tales; I am so going to own them. As far as I can tell, the series is penned collectively by three different authors, yet each holds the same tender care and vivid beauty that made the original stories so beloved; now they are timeless, and we can fall in love with them all over again.

Neverwhere (Neil Gaiman)

Rather interesting, and a lot more focused on world-building and setting than just the "shock factor" in all of his other books, it seems.
It starts, as ever, with a perfectly average man with a perfectly average life... Who encounters a mysterious young girl running for her life from some unnaturally cruel men intent on killing her, and his life changes abruptly and forever. There is a magical land under that which we are familiar with, called London Below, where velvet-dressed girls suck the lives of willing (albeit naive) victims, where an angel resides, awaiting his chance to return to Heaven, where Old Bailey and the Black Friars are actual people--and where one can get very, very lost if one does not take care.
Whereas a lot of Gaiman's other books narrate graphically about the more base and vulgar aspects of humanity—at least, I felt like those parts stood out the most, to my extreme discomfort—I was pleased to find that "Neverwhere" deals more with the folklore aspect, which lends itself to an emphasis on story and character instead of (quite frankly) sex and nudity. Gaiman works with a colorful cast and crafts a truly enchanting (if somewhat bizarre) novel.

The Emperor of Nihon-Ja (Ranger's Apprentice #10) (John Flanagan)

Flanagan did a fantastic job developing exiting characters while integrating new characters introduced in what at first seemed to be an installment outside the progressive chronology of the series... But the characters work so well, and the references to previous events fit nicely enough that it quite makes up for the faux pas.
I will say, the country of "Nihon-Ja" makes it painfully obvious that the whole setting of the Ranger's Apprentice series is just a fantasy-oriented rip-off of the real world: "Nihon" is Japanese for "Japan." There were others: "Toscana" is very obviously Italy, and they reference "Macedon" as an ancient kingdom. Moreover, the languages spoken in these regions are in fact the real-world languages of the countries on which they are based. While normally I might consider an author who does this to be nothing more than a lazy writer, Flanagan proves himself as anything but lazy in his treatment of plot and character development. Whereas normally, fantasy writers fall into the trap of focusing on setting to the detriment of story and characters, Flanagan took the "easy route" when it came to setting, in order to give his characters life and guide them through a compelling plot. "The Emperor of Nihon-Ja" was an enjoyable read, and I would definitely recommend the entire series to any fans of the genre!

The Finisher (David Baldacci)

Wow. Baldacci still has yet to disappoint!
I'll admit, I did not know what to think when I saw the name Baldacci in the Children's section. At best, I might think he might attempt YA to break out of the adult market, but Juvenile fiction? The reviews left me dubious, so I decided to let the book speak for itself.
And speak it did! Baldacci immerses the reader in an otherworldly vernacular, substituting "light" for "day", "sliver" for "minute", "slep" for "horse", and many others. It was a bit confusing at first, but the story was so compelling that I quickly got the hang of it.
As with all the books I have read so far from this author, his sense of plot and character are positively riveting and so vivid, I had them pictured in my mind without any need for celebrity portrayals.
The story centers around a young girl in a very closed community whose friend (and mentor in the occupation of "Finisher": the last person in an assembly line, who puts the finishing touches on all products... Hence the title) is summarily chased by strange beasts beyond the edge of the community that was her whole world... And in that moment, Vega Jane realizes that the world is far bigger than she had always believed. She and her lumbering, stuttering, but devastatingly loyal friend Delph are thrown headlong into an adventure fraught with danger, malevolent authorities, fierce creatures, a battle to the death, and plenty of entertainment to be had along the way!

Reached (Matched #3) (Ally Condie)

All in all, a rather bland book. I found it neither gripping nor repulsive.
Cassia is profoundly discontented for someone who has had her decisions made for her all her life. Now she's taken her freedom to choose... And whichever guy she's with, she wants very much to be with the other one! She makes it to Xander, but can't stop thinking about Ky... Meanwhile her signals are apparently not strong enough because Xander is convinced she'd still choose him.
Since it's the last book, too, we finally get some answers: what is the actual plan of the Resistance (Hint: it's not actually what you have been led to believe the whole time), how messed up the Society really is (Hint: it has something to do with the fact that the whole "Resistance" is fabricated so that those in power stay in control) and when a Plague strikes the Society, how much of a cliche plot device such crises really are... Especially when the effects and symptoms and immunity of the disease changes based on which characters have it (you basically figure out which ones are the author's favorite and which are expendable by what kind of symptoms they have). Altogether unfair, and the whole series just functioned like a child's toy: it started out really fast and promised loads of fun times, but after that initial burst it settled into a mundane rhythm and basically stopped at "the end." Meh.

NOT PICTURED:

F is for Fugitive (Sue Grafton)

Oh boy, I'd missed these books. What an awesome read. I love Henry as a character more (now that he's not being stalked or swindled by a deranged gold-digger!), and for once Kinsey was not conflicted by a handsome male character foisted upon her for the sake of "spice" or "steam." It pleases me to report that she can hold her own without any of that, thank you very much!

It was interesting reading "G" before this one, because it just felt like a step back in time. Kinsey was not burdened by the sudden departure of a good friend or a one-night stand, she just wants to help.
She gets a call down to a little town in Florida where a man seventeen years ago got convicted for the murder of his erstwhile girlfriend, and now his dying father contacts Kinsey and asks her to find the real killer and exonerate his son. She arrives, only to find that everyone in town has at least twenty years of buried secrets behind them. Grafton does it all with espionage, an escaped convict, buried evidence, false testimonies, midnight trysts, and just how far someone will go to hide the truth from their family.

Uglies (Scott Westerfield)

First Reaction: Convincing, that's certain—but I'm not sure I follow Tally's logic.
She is an "Ugly", which is to say she has not had the cosmetic enhancements that everyone gets at 16 to transform them into the symmetrical standard of beauty, called "Pretties." It is Tally's life goal to become a Pretty and have nothing to do but party all day long.
Then, less than a month before her operation, Tally meets Shay, a fellow Ugly who—horror of horrors—does not want to be Pretty! Shay convinces Tally to run away with her, and they find a rebel group that reveals to Tally that everything she knew about life had been sheer indoctrination by a faceless government entity who is using humanity's lust for perfection to enact some sort of mind control. The rebels have an antidote... But in order to make sure the untested "cure" works, Tally has to be Pretty after all. Oh gosh, I don't think I can take a book about Pretty life... And, like I said, I don't care enough about Tally—who has inevitably landed herself in the cliche dystopian love triangle of total drama—or anyone else to want to put myself through that. The tech ideas were cool, but I can get my fix in that category AND an awesome story elsewhere. Besides... I think I've learned my lesson about bland dystopian literature. (See review for Reached)