Shhhh!
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"Shhh. It's starting." Will held up his hand to silence Laura. It had been three days since Agent M had sprung him. Two days since he had convinced Laura to work with the Feds and resume the hunt. One day since Disney officials had announced this press conference.
The two leaned in closer to Chloe's tiny, grainy black and white screen. Laura gripped her pad and pen and strained to make out the figures in the snowy field. Will smacked the dingy set, and the picture resolved itself to reasonable clarity.
Onscreen, the crowd of reporters stilled and flashbulbs popped as a bright, sunny young woman sailed to the front of the room. Settling herself before the mike, she smoothed her satiny hair and motioned for silence with a flowery, gracious flick of the wrist. For a moment, it seemed gentle woodland creatures might be hovering just out of view. A banner on the lower edge of the screen identified her: Jill Farrell, Disney Spokesperson.
"Excuse me," she chirped, delicately and attractively uncertain. "Thank you all for coming."
"Oh, my stars," Will interjected. "She's a Disney heroine brought to life!"
The svelte sylph beamed as she cleared her throat and went on. "As you know, one of our favorite Disney attractions has recently become the center of quite a bit of attention." She flushed a delicate shade of pale gray at the thought of the excitement. "Unfortunately, it's not the sort of attention we'd like to attract!"
She turned just a smidge serious, her gently arched brows furrowing ever so slightly. "While pursuing the latest Sooner Than Never treasure hunt clue, one of the participants stumbled into what we like to call the 'back-stage area' of the park," she indicated the quotes with a delicate finger gestures. "While it's exciting to be part of such a grand event, we at Disney were concerned - concerned for the safety of our patrons and for the treasure hunter herself." A moment of silence indicated her heartfelt concern.
"As a result, we'll be taking some precautions to ensure that our attractions continue to entertain - and not endanger. To begin with, until further notice, Disney World will be taking a little vacation of its own," she dimpled. "We're taking a little time off to investigate exactly how our unexpected guest managed to find her way into areas we'd rather our patrons not 'pop in.'"
"And to make sure none of our other Disney friends are planning any unexpected visits of their own, we'll disclose the clue that was discovered earlier. Lights."
On her cue, the lights dimmed, and a video projection appeared on the screen behind her.
"As you will see," she narrated, "the clue was very difficult to locate, and required that our intrepid little visitor do a lot of rooting around in some pretty dangerous places." Behind her, the image of a mechanical pirate appeared onscreen. He straddled a large, wooden cask and rocked back and forth, kicking his feet and caterwauling a familiar sea-going ditty. His left foot was shoeless, revealing a red and white striped sock with a filthy toe pointing through a ragged hole.
"Such detailed craftsmanship," Will marveled.
"Shhh," Laura stilled him. "Listen!"
It was subtle at first, but Will eventually made out the clue. The pirate was singing, but the words weren't the same as those sung by his jovial companions. A Disney fanatic, Will had visited "Pirates" too many times - in Orlando, in Anaheim - to miss it.
As Will gaped, Laura's pen flew across the pad.
The same words repeated over and over.
The image faded out as the lights came up in the conference room. "It is our hope," perky Jill Farrell intoned, "That in revealing the clue, we have made any future 'visits'" - she made invisible quotes in mid-air - "unnecessary. Any questions before I return to the Magic Kingdom?"
A flurry of hands.
"Is it true that Disney is pressing charges against Lupaae Herminosa, the treasure hunter?"
Farrell's brow furrowed slightly. "Ms. Herminosa is guilty of trespassing and breaking and entering. She could have harmed herself or others, especially if she had damaged the equipment." Her face smoothed over, like a sun beam after a storm, with only a hint of malice. "And before we grow too sentimental about our little treasure hunter, please keep in mind that Ms. Herminosa appears to have been working for another party. This was not the act of an overenthusiastic gamester, but rather a calculated and mercenary infringement of the law," the Disney heroine fumed.
A few more innocuous questions followed ("When will the park reopen?," "Will Disney be pairing with Waterbury Publishing to create a Sooner Than Never attraction?"), and Ms. Farrell finally excused herself with a warming ingenue smile.
Will reached forward to snap off the set as Laura studied her pad.
"Well, this saves us a trip to Florida, I guess. Pity, too. I could fancy a dip in the gulf with a nice cabana boy ... " His eyes went dreamy for a minute. "Well, my lass, what've we got?"
Laura looked up, puzzled and abstracted. "I don't know," she muttered. "It's so familiar. It's like it's on the tip of my tongue. But I just can't quite get it ... Who flees in fear? Who nods in sleep? Is it an allusion to something? And how does that signal a location? Or does it?"
"Now don't strain your brain, sugar plum. None of the clues have been obvious so far; this one won't be any exception. Maybe you've focused on the wrong elements. Maybe '20' is the key." His eyes flashed as he considered the possibilities. "Wait! What's the twentieth state in the union? Or maybe it's 20 miles from the last clue! Or at the 20th latitude! Quick! To the atlas!!"
"Easy, big fella," Laura placed a restraining hand on Will's arm. "20 could mean anything, and it doesn't account for all the rest of the detail. If it were 20, why didn't Simon just slap a big '20' statue in the middle of the ride? Or etch it in the concrete? No. I think we have to look at the whole piece."
She settled back, staring intently at the scrap of doggerel. "Let's treat it like poetry explication. What's odd about the words? What sticks in your mind from it?"
"That's easy. A headless guy. A grisly and sinister headless phantom, scouring the night, looking for his next prey ... " he trailed off in a fiendish laugh. "Terror of dark places, the headless foe, swooping down on poor innocent peasants to ... something ..."
Laura mused. "Will. Where do you see headless foes?"
"Horror movies. Halloween decorations. Spooky stories." He looked contemplative. "There was that cartoon, wasn't there? Skinny fellow, big nose. Wasn't it called 'Ichabod Crane'?"
"No, that was the main character. It's called 'The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.' Story of the headless horseman ... Though I'm not sure where that gets us. And it doesn't really account for the rest of the pirate song."
"Ah, my chickadee, fret not. We know what to do next ... To the book! The book, my dear! Our paperback salvation! We're narrowing in ... we know it's something about Ichabod Crane, or the headless horseman. Maybe the next chapter of Sooner Than Never will hold the final key!"
"Well, it's worth trying. Where did the last clue leave off?"
Will feigned horror. "You mean you don't remember? Surely you recall the tedious sufferings of our beloved heroine, wee, shy, beleaguered Violet!?"
"Actually, I haven't thought about any of this since we split up in Santa Cruz," Laura fibbed.
"Then let's have a little review session, shall we? Let's see," he mused, picking up the tattered volume. "Chapter 5 should do it. As you will recall, when we last left our heroine, she was imprisoned, cruelly imprisoned by her malicious father. But ..." he paused, his finger raised to punctuate the point, "Not through any physical chains and shackles. No! It was a prison of the mind. A deep soothing opiate, designed to palliate the longings and enchain Miss Violet in the comforting sleep of the near dead ..."
"Oh, yeah," Laura cut in, "She was drugged."
"Shhhhhh," Will intoned rhapsodically. "Are we ready to rejoin Lady Violet after a long silent sleep?
Laura nodded her assent, and Will began to read.
And so, eleven years, they passed. Eleven winters scattered hoary frost over the fecund earth. Eleven springtimes felt the warming thaw of sun. Eleven harvests, full and fair, brought wealth and plenitude.
But not to all.
And Violet, where is gentle Violet after this long repose? Eleven years finds her still a ward of violent father's care, a stilled and silenced drudge, maintaining the care of his estate. Consciousness has been restored, the young miss brought back by the loving ministrations of her kindly nursemaid. Left to tend on the sleeping damsel, the gentle nursemaid had begun to doubt the helpful powers of the drugs and potions so frequently administered. Surreptitiously, she countermanded the orders of father and apothecary, replacing the opiates with pure potions of water, honey and herbs.
At last, the young maid revived. Seeing the seeming opiates no longer had their effect, her father relented, assuming that time had bent his daughter to his will. Violet found herself again a slavey in her father's house.
And where do we see her now? Now, gentle reader, we find her at her tasks. Mending and knitting, planning the daily meals. Small tasks to fill a small, colourless life.
Despite the rigors of her daily routine, sweet Violet returns each day, drawn back to a simple, heartfelt task - she tends to the huswifely needs of her gentle ward, young Harlowe.
Young Harlowe - now nearly a young man - but not the figure Violet expected to meet upon awakening. For while Violet had unspeakable oppressions, her sufferings could not be compared to those of her young ward. Growing from infancy to young manhood under the vicious care of his cruel step-grandfather, Harlowe was a changed figure indeed. Eleven years had found him malnourished, mistreated, slaving in the stables as the lowliest of grooms!
Upon awakening, Violet hardly recognized the boy. All that remained of his former shape were the warm, soft hazel eyes, sunk deep in a face of suffering. She felt stirring again the tender shoots of motherly solicitude, and vowed to soothe away whatever pain she could through kindly ministrations.
Each month, as soon as her father had left to attend to civic duties in the town, sweet Violet would silently, carefully, wend her way to the boy's quarters. She would sleek his sheets and mend his shoddy pillowcase, returning a sense of order to his few possessions.
She did, that is, until that fateful day.
Will looked up, his eyes wild with anticipation. "I sense complications! I sense impending tumult for our young heroine!!"
"Yes, yes. But no headless foes ..."
"Shhh. Allow me to continue. Remember, we haven't even gotten to the clue that led to 'Pirates,' so we haven't reached the next clue yet. Shall I resume?"
Laura nodded, and Will returned to his task.
It started as any other day. Racing to meet the sun, dear Violet arose and oversaw the preparation to her father's meal. Needlepoint took up the remainder of her morning as she waited - no, longed! - for her father's departure. At last, she heard the head groomsman bark his orders, and she knew she had her freedom - at least, for some few hours.
Away she hastened to Harlowe's cell. Poor dear boy, she thought. Up before the dawn, toiling to clean the stables - for beasts who received better treatment than himself!
Violet swept around the tiny room. So spare, so dour. She would do what she could to brighten his little cell, to bring some joy to his sterile life.
She knew what she would do! Gather his few keepsakes and create a warm, friendly nook, a place of solace for the wearied lad. She reached for a lowly burlap sack beside the lad's bed, a repository of his few fancies, remnants from his former life as a young princeling.
Opening the sack, Violet pulled out a small wooden boat, its paint fading and chipped. Next, she uncovered an old, battered ornamental dagger, rusted and dulled from years of careful use. Violet smiled. A remembrance of Lord Lufton, Harlowe's father and - briefly - Violet's bridegroom.
Fishing back into the bag, she touched a small, slick oval of metal. It felt heavy and oddly familiar in her hand as her fingers played along the edge.
Pulling it from the bag, she let out a gasp of recognition. Her locket! Her dear little locket!! A gift from her mother, she had presented it to Lord Lufton upon their betrothal. Delicately engraved with wreathing filigree, it contained a portrait of herself, a girl, in miniature - a token of her pledge to her future groom.
Violet hugged the tiny locket to her breast. O precious remembrance! O fragment of a happier time gone by!! Holding the tiny trinket before her eyes, she gently coaxed it open.
A small round of paper sandwiched within fluttered delicately to the ground, a bleached leaf against dusty wood grain. Seizing it up, Violet beheld the words inscribed thereon:
Violet let out a gasp. What could it all mean? After Lufton's death, the locket had been returned to her safekeeping. How had it come to be here, among Harlowe's things??
And what of the note? It was not in Lord Lufton's hand. She knew his strong, sinewy cursive all too well. Even the intervening years had not dimmed her memory of his signature on their marriage agreement.
Could it be ...?
Could it be this note was written by her young ward?? Did Harlowe love? And was his love for her ... ? Or was this locket the carrier, the secret stowing place for his hidden passion for another?
Violet paused in contemplation. So much had changed since she slipped into sleep lo these eleven years past. She had awakened as if to a brand new world. Surrounded by so many new faces; old familiar visages slipt away. Faces she could almost recall, dimly, as through a clouded glass - now benetted with the criss-crossed lines of time, as if hobgoblins had stolen in and made a theft of youth. She was a stranger here, an artifact, ripped, ripped ... rip ... from a time gone by.
And Harlowe. He was once a boy, and now a man. Violet pondered, noting anew Harlowe's lately won manly grace. Mistreatment had not dulled the noble glint in his eye. His rounded childish profile had given way to masculine lines and edges - sharp, solid features promising all that Violet had longed for: strength, loyalty and love.
Love?
Had she thought 'love'?
Not till this moment had she realized how motherly tenderness had given way to something warmer, something keener.
But was it love?
Violet, in her sad, stunted life, did not know the emotion. Lust she had seen. Anger. Malice. Contempt. No man had ever looked upon her with kindness, generosity. And never had she felt those sweet kindlings, these gentle yearnings.
But could it be love? Love for Harlowe, her tender ward; once a boy, now a man?
As she dreamed on in silent contemplation, a shadow fell across her, and alarm ran through her as a hand touched her shoulder. Violet cried out in fear.
"Shhh," a gentle, soothing voice intoned. She turned, and found herself swimming in Harlowe's warm, hazel eyes. A moment of silent communication passed between them.
Then slowly, ever so slowly, their separate frames floated inward toward union. Their lips met and melted in a sweet comixture. Violet felt the earth spin away beneath her as warm, velvety waves enveloped her.
Harlowe suddenly pulled back.
"And we must flee," he whispered urgently, as if completing a thought already voiced.
Violet nodded dumbly.
"I know the place," Harlowe continued. "Safe, secure and hidden from the terrors we have known. No one will pursue us there. Lopellop Castle."
Violet shuddered. Lopellop. The very name conjured images of death and destruction. Unexplained conflagrations. Explosions in the night sky. A haunted scene of ancient death, a castle in ruins besieged by ancient foes. Besieged still, some said, by haunting specters of past battles, munitions of hatred stored against the foe. Hobgoblins were said to frequent the remains, and those not cast under a golden spell of sleep were found beheaded, blood shed on ancient, haunted grounds.
"Fear not the tales," Harlowe reassured her. "It is a gentle place. No headless foe, no hobgoblin curse haunts the island fortress. We will flee to Lopellop, and from thence - to freedom and love!!"
Will put down the book. "Any ideas?"
Be sure to tune in on
Thursday, September 23
for the cagey and wiley
Chapter 34
of
THE WEBSERIAL
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