Chapter 36
Nan held her hand upon the body of Hungry Tiger, who wore a tightly wrapped bandage, still soaking with blood, where its head should be.
“This isn’t going to work,” Smith whispered to Nan, his hands shaking furiously as his wide teary eyes blinked behind his spectacles.
She wished Languidere had not summoned him.
The distress he was suffering over the wounded animal hurt Nan.
“You must try, you have to try,” Nan whispered back, taking his hands and squeezing them firmly. “There is no telling what she will do.”
“I can make the collar, I can mold the lurlicite, but I cannot enchant it,” he said, his whisper so forceful that the princess, who lay upon her bed stroking the head of the Bengal tiger, could hear.
“You two whisper louder than Hungry Tiger’s belly growls!
” She laughed. “You don’t need to enchant it.
I have summoned a witch for that. Smith, I only require the pretty collar.
But make it very pretty.” She sat up and nuzzled the cat’s pillow-propped head.
“Pretty enough for such a pretty girl.” The princess spoke as if she cooed to a baby. Nan’s stomach turned with disgust.
“Your cousin requires natural light. I will prepare the greenhouse for his work,” Nan said impulsively, hoping some privacy would help Smith fulfill the task.
She waited for acknowledgement, but the princess looked back and forth between her and Smith with suspicion, then rose slowly and tilted her head, the way she did before saying something spiteful.
“I have seen his drawings done in dim light,” Nan continued quickly, hoping to avoid the princess’ cynical jests.
“They are subpar, at best. It’s better that he get the necklace design right the first time, so that Hungry Tiger won’t be waiting too long to eat.
She must be awfully hungry.” Nan hoped Smith would understand that the fib about his drawing was but a tactic.
“Oh, fine!” Languidere said and waved her hand before plopping back onto the bed, which caused the tiger’s gauze-bandaged head to bounce about on its pillow.
The sight of the head rolling with tongue whipping around caused Nan’s stomach to drop swiftly.
The princess didn’t notice, for she was too busy snickering at the poor tiger’s helplessness.
Nan turned to leave quickly and Smith, who had already packed his supplies, raced awkwardly behind her. Nan nodded to the glaring princess, before closing the doors behind them.
Smith carefully removed the jagged lurlicite rocks from the locked wooden box at the greenhouse workbench. “Have you ever seen it happen before?” Nan asked.
“Hm?” Smith said as he struck a match to light a strange-looking canister that then burned with a blue flame, its heat so intense that Nan had to squint against the radiating warmth.
“An animal in this state,” Nan said.
“Once, when I was very young, there was a house cat. Got into the well and then, not long after, she lost her tail, and it still wagged around.”
Smith pulled on large suede gloves that were too big for him. “How do you work with such ill-fitting gloves?”
“They are Tinker’s. I was rushing and grabbed the wrong pair,” Smith explained, holding his large gloved hands up in the air.
Smith and Tinkerton were nearly always together.
Nan had expected Tinkerton to be with him.
Partners in mystic and invention was how Tinkerton would refer to their friendship.
Smith lifted a large stone with a funnel chiseled through to the backside. “What did they do with the tail?”
“What? Oh, the cat. Burned it, I think.” Smith turned a knob on the canister, and the flame grew.
His focus seemed to push his fear away. Nan propped her elbows onto the bench and rested her chin on her hands, looking down at the ancient rocks.
They had no luster at all. It was as if they were covered in soot. “I thought it was supposed to sparkle.”
“Yeah. Not to us. To see it, it must be activated somehow. That’s what Tink says.” His eye shifted at mentioning the name. “And you still can’t see it if you’re not…”
“A witch,” Nan exhaled. “How convenient. Sounds like nonsense.” She picked up the largest rock, and it suddenly lit up with silver swirls radiating in her hand. She gasped and dropped it.
“Careful! That’s barely enough!” Smith said. “Wait.” He studied her. “What has happened?”
Nan hesitated, but she could never withhold something from Smith. “It illuminated when I held it.” She grabbed another rock and, as before, it sparkled like a star. She gazed in awe.
Smith gasped through an open-mouthed grin. “You have the spark! Well, I’ll be damned! It makes sense with your dreams, of course! You must see Rosemarie. Do not tell her I told you, of course. But you will need a mentor. She taught Tinkerton. I can talk to him! Maybe he should talk to her!”
“She is a witch?” Nan whispered. “Do you think she would agree to take me into her court?”
“I’m sure she would!”
Nan wanted to stand and throw her arms around him. She awkwardly took his hand in his ill-fitting glove.
“That will be, um.” He looked at her hand on the glove and rested his other over it.
She laughed at the silly large gloves holding her small hand.
He laughed nervously. “I could see you most every day.” Smith grinned so large that she could see the teeth furthest back in his mouth.
It made her laugh aloud. “This day is turning around!” he said sweetly.
As Smith fidgeted with the intricate pin mechanism on the collar, Nan observed an approaching figure from the hidden entrance of the garden greenhouse.
The woman was clearly no stranger to the dwelling, as she entered unannounced with ease.
From her vantage point on the third tier of the garden lawn, Nan could discern the woman’s imposing presence as she drew nearer.
Her dull charcoal dress was unremarkable, but the tailoring was precise, accentuating every unflattering aspect of her figure—darted anywhere one could dart fabric.
Her hair was tightly coiled at the nape of her neck.
She wore black gloves despite the sweltering summer heat and clutched a faded carpet bag.
She approached like a shadow ascending the steps, her stern countenance leaving no room for warmth or kindness.
“Is that the witch?” Smith asked.
“It could be no other.” Nan spoke quietly, her gaze meeting the woman’s shark-like black eyes through the rippling glass of the greenhouse.
With a forced smile, Nan offered a polite wave, but the woman returned no acknowledgement, her attention firmly fixed on the grand palace looming beyond the greenhouse walls.
This witch was cold, devoid of warmth or cordiality. “You must hurry,” Nan pressed.