"Her name?" Galvin turned to Drollo.
The old man beamed. "Isabelle. Named after my second wife."
"And you're certain she's still inside?"
"Oh, yes. She's too small to reach the door latch or the windowsills."
"And she's been missing two days, maybe three?"
"Yes," the old man stated simply.
Galvin rubbed his chin. "When I was her age," he mused aloud, "I occupied myself for days rummaging about your tower. But after two days she should have come out for a bite to eat-if she could." At once he regretted saying that, knowing the old man would fear the worst.
"The kitchen," the druid offered quickly. "If she's all right, she has to be looking for food. We'll start searching in the kitchen."
Drollo frowned and shifted his weight back and forth on his slippered feet.
"What is it?" Galvin asked curtly.
"She might not be hungry," Drollo suggested. "I have bits of food stashed all over the tower. I'm getting old, you know, and sometimes it's hard to get around. I keep things to eat here and there, so when I get hungry I don't have to come all the way downstairs to the kitchen."
The druid sighed. "Is she prone to playing games? Is it like her to just disappear like this?"
"She likes to play," Drollo said. "Hide-and-find is her favorite game."
The druid scanned the clutter. There were dozens of hiding places for a little girl in this room alone, and there were eight floors to the tower and a deep basement that had more than two levels. "You used magic to hide this mess," Galvin began. "Did you use magic to look for her?"
A pained expression crossed Drollo's face. "Oh, Galvin, would that I had that kind of magic. I can mask things, make something look like something else, make sounds appear out of silence, or silence something noisy. My magic doesn't have any real substance to it. I'm sorry." He chewed his lower lip. "What about your magic?"
"I'm a druid," Galvin noted flatly. "I can't do that sort of magic either."
"But you talk to Elias. And I've seen you talk to plants and rocks," Drollo stammered.
"I don't see how those skills are going to help us here."
Drollo blanched. "Then what are we going to do?"
"We're going to find her the old-fashioned way, by searching for her," Galvin sighed. "You start looking over there." He indicated the section of the room blanketed in sheafs of parchment.
"I've looked there. I think I've looked everywhere," Drollo moaned. "This is my fault."
The druid pointed again, and the old man complied, shuffling toward the parchment mound. Drollo began shuting through the mass. "Isabelle!" he called. Unsurprisingly, no one answered.
An hour later the druid was certain every inch of the room had been searched. There was no sign of a little girl.
Frustrated and sneezing, Galvin strode from the room and nearly bumped into a pile of crates in the hallway. "What's in all of these?" he asked. The old man pursed his lips. "Oh, things I've collected through the years. I've forgotten what's in most of them. You'd have to look at the labels. What room shall we try next?"
The druid continued to stare, dumbfounded, at the mounds of boxes and piles of books. If he were outdoors looking for someone, he would track them like a hunter tracks an animal. Broken branches, muddy footprints, flattened grass, and other clues would point the way.
Perhaps, Galvin thought, I was wrong about my magic, especially if I treat this collection of junk like the wilderness.
The druid looked around, searching for disturbed patches of webbing. His eyes rested on the base of a large crate. There, nearly hidden by the shadows, a mouse was tugging a pale pink ribbon into a hole. Galvin knelt and began squeaking to the mouse, but the little rodent was determined in its task and ignored the druid. Reaching forward, Galvin snatched the ribbon and squeaked again.
The mouse shuddered with fear, wriggled its nose, and darted into the hole.
Galvin rubbed his thumb across the silk ribbon, still shiny and new. "Isabelle's?" he asked.
The old man looked at the ribbon, then nodded slowly.
"I'm tracking her," the druid said simply. "Let's try the next floor."
Only a pathway at the center of the stairs to the upper floors was clear of debris. An accumulation of junk rested against each banister. Galvin scanned the collection of chair legs and discarded oil lamps, pausing only when he spied a brass vase precariously poised on a step halfway up. He carefully picked his way through the hodgepodge and knelt by the vase. Elias darted under Calvin's arm and sniffed it, black, beady eyes reflecting warmly in the curved surface. The weasel chartered uneasily.
"Yes, it's unusual," the druid answered.
"What?" Drollo huffed as he climbed the stairs, a thick candle in his right hand. "You found something?"
Grasping the vase at the rim, the druid turned and sat on the step to face the old man. "This vase," Galvin began. "It's peculiar."
Drollo arched his eyebrows. "Look at my collection later, Galvin. My granddaughter is more important than a hunk of brass."
"Don't you see?" the druid continued. "It's out of place. It's clean. There's not a spot of dirt anywhere on it."
The old man shook his head. "It's not out of place. It's new. I got that a few days ago. It was in a shipment from Callidyrr." He paused for a moment, then spoke more rapidly. "A shipment I opened in my study! Galvin, I didn't put that vase here."
"Isabelle might have," the druid surmised. Placing the vase back on the step, he stood, pivoted, and sprinted to the landing above. Elias bounded after him, pausing only to glance back at the old man, who followed.
On the landing Galvin scrutinized the piles of odds and ends, which were beginning to resemble every other cache of junk in the tower. What would possess a man to hoard so much? the druid pondered. Drollo was like the most greedy of dragons, he decided. He collected anything remotely valuable, then let it sit and gather dust.
Well, in that much Drollo differed from the dragons Galvin had chanced upon in his journeys: the great wyrms tended to keep their wealth relatively clean. And it was easy to walk around in their caves-if you were an invited guest, of course.
The druid lay down on the landing and glanced around. The weasel clung to his shoulder and continued to squeak. Its small face turned from side to side as if it were imitating Galvin.
"I'm looking at things from a child's-eye-view," the druid told Elias, pushing the weasel out of the way.
"That's smart of you," Drollo gasped, nearly out of breath from the effort of climbing. "I hadn't thought of that."
Without a word, Galvin rose and padded toward a door off the landing. It was partially blocked by a stand filled with intricately carved staves inlaid with silver and gold, but there was just enough space in the doorway for a child to squeeze through. Galvin moved the staves, though he nearly dropped the entire stand when one staff began to twinkle and twitch.
As he'd suspected, the ever-present spiderwebs had recently been disturbed around the door. Keeping an eye on the magical staff, he reached for the latch. He stopped, spying small smudges on the knob-traces of Isabelle.
"I'm not such a bad detective after all," he noted reassuringly to Drollo, then turned the handle and went inside.
The druid had to shield his eyes, for the room beyond was as bright as a sunny day. The source of the light was a glowing yellow globe dangling low, just inside the doorway. The ceiling, as cracked as the earth in a dry riverbed, was painted a warm and inviting shade of rose. The color of the walls was a darker shade of rose, though much of it was hidden behind Drollo's myriad possessions.
"Isabelle," Galvin called. "I'm a friend. I'm here with your grandfather. Please come out."