Chapter 15
Ms. Angela sat at her desk and seethed. Bandits, the report had said, in her mine.
And not just any bandits. Old bandits. Old witch bandits.
With vicious familiars. The foreman’s report lay on a stack of paperwork in front of her, and she read it again, for at least the tenth time that day.
The foreman had been unsure they were really thieves, though.
A more likely explanation, he’d written, was that the two old women were from the home.
Deranged escapees, he’d suggested. The nincompoop.
Ms. Angela hadn’t recalled there being any witches among her residents, and she’d scoured the files since then and been proven right.
Anyway, there was only one resident unaccounted for at last night’s bed check. The troublemaker.
Ms. Angela set her jaw and reached for a small black leather-bound directory she kept in a locked drawer.
She flipped the pages until she found the name she wanted.
She didn’t like involving outsiders in her business.
It could attract unwanted attention. But that couldn’t be helped right now.
First thing tomorrow, she would put a stop to any trespassing on her property.
And in the meantime, she had increased night patrols by the orderlies and the miners.
No one was going to put a toe on her grounds in future without her knowing about it…
and dealing with it. Unlike other people, Ms. Angela wasn’t afraid of witches, or magic in general for that matter.
She was smarter than other people, after all.
That’s what Daddy had always said. Smarter, cleverer… better.
Outside, Katherine placed her party once again a fair distance from the entry to the Eagle Heights grounds, for a slow and wary approach to the main building. An escort of heavy clouds was ushering the sun over the horizon, setting the sky aflame and making the whole place look vibrantly singed.
But it still stank something awful.
“All right,” Mrs. Chrysler said in a nasal voice, her nostrils pinched between thumb and forefinger. “Last night, we rounded the main house that way to get to the gravel paths. I say tonight, we search the other side.”
“I agree,” Katherine said. “If I had to guess, a freight entrance would be over there”—she pointed—“close enough to the main road for access, but perhaps hidden behind those frightful hedges.”
Mrs. Chrysler nodded. “Here,” she said to Ruben, bundling the battle poncho out of her bag, “let’s get this on you.”
“I still can’t believe,” Ruben said as Mrs. Chrysler helped him, “what they’re doing here. Ugh, it makes me so mad.”
“I know, dear,” she said. “It makes me mad too.”
With the sun abed, the red light slowly drained from the sky and left the world in shades of gray and black.
The party shuffled toward the entryway to the estate and took a hard left as soon as they were inside, tracing a line of truly inelegant evergreen shrubberies along the eastern side of the main building.
The bushes were tall and scraggly and conical, but unkempt at the tip, as if someone had given up on pruning them once they reached a certain height.
“All right, I think we’re on to something, Katty,” Mrs. Chrysler said. The rutted track they’d been following behind the hedge presently led to a large door on vertical rollers in the stone. It was closed. And padlocked.
Katherine cupped her ear to the wood and listened closely. “I can’t hear anyone inside,” she reported. “Shall I pick it?”
Mrs. Chrysler nodded approvingly.
So much sneaking around, Tilly said, looking around them with her tail wrapped around all four paws. Seems so risky coming back here over and over again.
I know, dear, said Ember, covering her mouth with a paw to keep from spitting sparks. But it is a bit exciting, isn’t it? They really seem to be on a hot trail, don’t they?
Hot indeed, Mr. Scruffles agreed, sniffing the ground at the base of the door. Warm air is just pouring out of this gap, and it smells just as foul as it did down the tunnels, I’d say.
“All right, that should do it,” Katherine was saying now, popping open the padlock easily and tossing it aside.
She reached to pull the door’s handle upward and instantly regretted it.
“Oh, gods, this is heavy!” She straightened and massaged her back with a grimace.
“How does a person lift this darn thing?”
“Here, Katty, let me try,” Mrs. Chrysler offered, then met the same result—an immovable object and muscle strain.
“I can try?” Ruben said. The two women glanced at him and, as one, shook their heads.
“I think it would snap you in two, Ruben.”
“Here, look here, Katty.” Mrs. Chrysler pointed, indicating Mr. Scruffles, who was gingerly sniffing a rope that they’d previously not observed alongside the door.
“Oh, good boy, Mr. Scruffles. It’s a pulley system, Imogene. Together now… pull down!”
The door began to lift, catching on ratchets as the two women heaved on the rope. Mr. Scruffles quickly slunk inside the gap, letting his head pass through the door itself while the rest of his body moved over the muddy flagstones that quickly appeared beneath it.
“Ernie, did you hear the door open?” a deep voice resounded from around the far corner of the building, and Katherine caught Mrs. Chrysler’s eye.
“Close it, close it, close it!” she whispered, grabbing the padlock she’d discarded.
Hauling the door downward by the handle was simpler, and it descended with ease.
Mr. Scruffles bolted through the closed door, and Katherine and Mrs. Chrysler hustled Ruben and the rest of Katherine’s pets into the unruly shrubberies to hide.
Soon, Katherine heard heavy boots on gravel, one stride even and rhythmic, the other suggesting a slight limp.
“Nothing’s amiss here, Gerald,” came the familiar voice of Ernie. “Door’s closed and locked like usual.”
The other voice grunted. “It’s a bad job, I say, making us pace around out here, chasing shadows.”
“You’d rather be underground, would you?”
Again, Ernie’s companion grunted. “I know what I’m about down there.”
“What about the smell? Air’s fresher up here, isn’t it?”
“What do I care?” said Gerald. “I don’t have a sense of smell anyway.” Katherine craned her neck to see him better, and found, much to her chagrin, that he was contemplatively and industriously picking his nose. “Come on, back to our circuit. Those bushes give me the creeps.”
The steps faded away, and Katherine exchanged glances with Mrs. Chrysler through the rough branches that concealed them.
“Patrols, Imogene,” she whispered.
“Seems so, Katty.” Mrs. Chrysler turned to Ruben with a thoughtful expression. “I think we’d be better off incognito in case they come back, don’t you?”
Ruben eyed her doubtfully. “What are you saying, Mrs. C.?” he asked.
Mrs. Chrysler drew him out of the shrubberies and lifted Mouser off of his shoulders, setting the old cat on the ground.
Mouser immediately slunk away to sit by Tilly.
“Ruben,” Mrs. Chrysler said, drawing off his scarf now, “you did such a good job last time. I know you want to come inside, but we need you to keep a lookout for us. Not only that, but you have the perfect wardrobe to provide Katty and me with disguises.”
“I do?”
“Yes.”
“Um, why do you need disguises?”
“They’ve seen us before, Ruben,” Katherine said, jerking her head toward the far corner of the building and the two men who were pacing somewhere behind it. “Down the mine, last night.”
“Oh.”
“That’s right,” said Mrs. Chrysler, helping Ruben out of his battle poncho and dropping it at her feet.
She next began to undo the beaded belt around the robe that Sister Agatha had given him.
“We’ve got to plant this note now, and we can’t be stopped doing it.
Just two days left now. If she doesn’t come tomorrow, we’re out of time.
So give us your hands.” She lifted his arms above his shoulders to slip the robe off over his head.
“But what am I to do?” Ruben said, eyes suddenly popping wide as the cool night air met his bare torso.
Katherine was relieved that he was indeed wearing undershorts, but she nonetheless respectfully averted her eyes skyward.
Ruben gamely puffed his chest a bit and sucked in his small paunch.
Then a cold shiver ran through him and he threw his arms around himself.
Mrs. Chrysler handed his scarf back to him.
“Stay in the shrubberies, Ruben,” she ordered.
“Ember will stay with you,” said Katherine, “to keep you warm.” She nodded at the small dragon, who immediately trotted over and began arching her back against the old man’s legs.
She applied enough pressure, Katherine noticed, and in just the right direction, to corral him back into the scrubby branches.
“All right,” Ruben said, clearly overridden. He retreated until he was barely visible. “But be quick about it… please.” His teeth began to chatter.
“As quick as we can be,” Mrs. Chrysler said, then offered Katherine the robe, while she retrieved the poncho from the ground.
“Oh, Imogene, can I have the poncho instead?” Katherine asked. “I really don’t think I can impersonate a nun.”
Mrs. Chrysler rolled her eyes. “Fine, Katty, have it your way.”
Katherine and Mrs. Chrysler threw Ruben’s robe and poncho over their own clothes and quickly examined themselves. The robe dragged on the ground beyond Mrs. Chrysler’s feet and drooped over her petite hands.
“I really think we should switch, Katty. I look more like a banshee than a nun.”
“It doesn’t matter, Imogene. You look fine.”
Mrs. Chrysler grimaced, but hitched up the robe without another word and led the way back to the freight entrance. As they carefully hauled on the rope to open the door, Mr. Scruffles trotted partially inside, and his tail wagged in agitation on the near side of the paneling.