"Isabelle?" He spied movement near the windowsill. Striding forward, the druid brushed aside a thin curtain of webs. By the window sat a small oak table, in the center of which danced an ivory mermaid, no bigger than Calvin's hand. The exquisitely carved figurine rose and fell, spinning on a carved walnut wave. And all along the dusty outer edge of the tabletop ran a smudged path of handprints.
Elias skittered up Calvin's leg and leaped onto the table. The weasel chittered excitedly.
"Isabelle was here," Galvin replied. "She tried to reach for the mermaid."
"Isabelle?" Drollo called, padding into the room.
The druid gathered up Elias and faced the old man. "She was here. Perhaps she still is. The handprints are fresh enough that they're free of dust."
The old man's eyes sparkled. "Bless you, Galvin."
The druid's cautious stare told Drollo not to get too excited.
"I knew I did the right thing by sending Elias after you. I couldn't thuuVof anyone better for finding my Isabelle. You know, people around here consider you a hero, Galvin. And just think of the-"
"Quiet!" the druid hissed. He cocked his head from side to side.
"What's the matter?"
Galvin glared at the old man, then quickly softened his expression. "I heard something." He cocked his head again and called, "Isabelle?"
An odd scratching noise was the only reply.
Calvin's senses were more acute than most men's, but the unnatural clutter and congestion inside the tower hampered them. Out of his element, it took him more time and effort to pinpoint the source of the noise, but locate it he did. Putting Elias down, he moved warily toward a shadowy recess hidden partially by a large crate.
Skritch. Skritch. Skritch.
Galvin could tell it was the sound of metal upon stone, but as he neared the crate the noise stopped. Elias, hugging his ankles, bared its teeth and hissed.
It took all of the druid's strength to tug the crate forward, leaving just enough space for him to squeeze through and get to the recess behind. The weasel remained in front of the crate, rearing back on its hind legs and pawing at the air.
The shadows were thick behind the crate, despite the light from the magical globe. Webs tangling in his hair, Galvin wondered why a little girl would brave the mess to hide here. He never came to a conclusion; something stabbed him in the right ankle and disrupted his thoughts.
The druid cursed between gritted teeth as he tried to back away. Again pain lanced through his ankle, and Galvin discovered he couldn't budge-something was wrapped around his leg, something metallic and jagged and very strong. Bending forward as much as the small confines would allow, he groped about, trying to find his attacker.
A whiplike tendril wrapped itself painfully about the druid's left wrist. Galvin cursed again.
"Galvin?" Drollo called.
"Stay back!"
The whip tightened about Calvin's wrist. Reaching forward with his right hand, he locked his fingers about the tentacle and pulled as hard as he could. Galvin heard a snap, then fell backward, a sundered metal limb in his hand. The druid quickly righted himself and grasped the tentacle about his ankle and pried it loose.
He crawled out from behind the crate and bumped right into Drollo's slippered feet.
Scritch. Ka-thunk, ka-thunk.
The druid glanced back just in time to see the crate wobble and fall forward, toppled by a metal monstrosity. A glistening black sphere surrounded by a dozen limbs, the thing wasn't alive, yet its whiplike appendages writhed like an octopus's tentacles. Oil spurted from the spots where Galvin had yanked limbs loose. The thing still had at least a dozen more of the whiplike devices, and it twirled several maddeningly while using others to move itself along, climbing over the crate and advancing on the druid.
A loud clap sounded in the room, followed by a brilliant flash of blue-white light.
The druid shielded his eyes once more. He flailed his other arm in front of him in a sorry defense against the metal monster. But no attack came. When the glare subsided, he dropped his hand and stared at the thing.
The clockwork contraption lay unmoving, cracked nearly in two. Oil spilled out of its guts and onto the floor.
Puzzled, the druid glanced up at Drollo. The old man was leaning on a carved staff he had taken from the stand-the one that had sparked and twinkled when Galvin had first tried to move it.
"Just wanted to help," the old man offered proudly. "I remember now why I kept this room closed up. I've a few gnomish odds and ends stored in here-that vermin catcher you tussled with and some other clockwork things like it. A few of them might be dangerous." A look of panic washed over his face as he shuffled toward the broken mechanization: "My Isabelle," he gushed. "What if the vermin catcher got my Isabelle?"
Galvin slowly got to his feet and tested his sore ankle. Looking down, he saw that it was bleeding. He cautiously flexed his left hand and felt his wrist to make sure nothing was broken. "She's not back there."
"What if she's lying there dead?" Drollo asked frantically, trying to pick his way behind the fallen crate.
The druid grabbed the old man's shoulder. "I would have smelled her blood," he stated bluntly, then stalked from the room.
Galvin waited for Drollo on the landing, then closed the door to the room and replaced the stand filled with staves. Nervously, he paced back and forth, rubbing his sore wrist. Elias scampered between his bare feet, the weasel's claws slipping on the smooth stone with every other step.
He stared at the polished marble steps and the central pathway swept clean of dust by his feet and Drollo's-and Isabelle's.
"Drollo, I've been a fool. I should have done this the moment I came into the tower."
The druid sat unceremoniously on the step just below the landing, wedging himself between a pile of books and a collection of hourglasses. He closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, and rested his arms on the landing, his fingers feeling the cool smoothness of the stone at his side.
Galvin broke into a cold sweat, the sheen on his brow nearly matching the shine on the marble beneath his fingertips. His breathing became slower still. He was calling upon skills taught to him by powerful druids-the ability to speak with stones and the very earth itself.
He felt his fingers become as stiff and unmovable as the marble, his limbs rigid like the stairway. His tongue became dry and thick. Though his mouth moved slowly, no words escaped.
A little girl, Galvin said with only his mind.
Little? the stone stairway asked. The word was drawn out, sounding like rock grating upon rock.
A person. Like me, but smaller. Galvin felt his own thought processes moving sluggishly, the words he was forming in his mind becoming simpler as his thoughts merged with the marble's. A girl. Half my size.
Small, the stone repeated. The word sounded exotic and even soothing coming from the stairway. Tall to us. Always above us. The marble droned. Stone never hurried in telling its story. Always looking down on us. We always looking up.
Tall to you, then, Galvin continued. But not as tall as me. The druid was sweating profusely now, for conversing with stone was always taxing. Remember her?
The grinding noise became louder inside the druid's head. The stone was thinking, mumbling to itself. Remember many feet, the steps groaned finally. Feet of people smaller than you. Pebbles compared to rocks. A short while ago, many, many pebble feet.
Many? the druid gasped.
The stone rumbled and pulled a term from Calvin's mind. Children, the stone replied. Many children. Up and down. Up and down. Always running up and down us.
Many?
Many, the stone repeated. Feet quickly grew, became larger, like yours. Then all but two feet go away. The stone paused, then added, But soon more pebbles came. They got larger, too, and disappeared. Now left with only two feet again-and yours.