My heart thumped hard in my chest.
“You will buy. Or we will watch, and watch, and watch you until you cannot help but buy. We will make you buy.”
“What do you want?” I asked, my voice a soft whisper.
“A book.”
“A book?”
He nodded. “My master wants a book from the library,” he said, pointing one of his long fingers toward Strawberry Hill. “You will bring us the book. Tonight. Then we will give you your key and be on our way.”
“What kind of book?”
“You don’t need to know what kind of book,” he spat, glaring at me, his eyes flashing.
He dipped into his pocket and pulled out a yellowed paper. He handed it to me.
I steeled my nerve and took the slip. On it was written words I couldn’t read in a language I didn’t recognize.
“You will find this book and bring it to my master tonight. And if you do not, we will make you buy. Perhaps Miss Annabeth will pass through the forest again. We watched her close, you know. We saw her, but she didn’t see us. We see many who pass. Young Boatswain. Mistress Quickly. We see them, but they do not see us. We will make you buy, Miss Rossetti. Do you understand?”
I did. The merchant—the creature—had lured me into a trap. I knew deep in my heart I shouldn’t have taken those stones. But I had. I had, and now I had to comply, or they would find someone to hurt.
The little man laughed again, a terrible hissing sound. “By midnight,” he said then turned and walked away. He passed a tall timber. I expected him to reappear on the other side, but he was gone. And along with him, the tents vanished from sight. Only a puff of smoke twisting upward through the leafless trees remained.
I remembered Mistress Quickly’s words. They seemed to be gone.
Seemed was right.
Because even though I couldn’t see them, I could feel their yellow eyes on me. Watching and waiting.
Chapter 9: It Doesn’t Look Like Anything to Me
I rushed back to Strawberry Hill.
This wasn’t possible. This couldn’t possibly be real.
But it was.
It was all real.
As I moved quickly through the snow, I considered everything I’d seen. The tents. The merchants. The hagstones. The gnomes.
But there was more.
The merchants weren’t human. They looked like monsters…like goblins.
That wasn’t possible.
Opening the latch on the front door slowly, I hoped to slip into the house unseen. I would go to the library, find the book, and undo all this mess. Immediately.
“Scarlette?” a voice called.
I turned to find Archie standing there, a footman helping him on with his coat.
“I was just about to come looking for you.”
“Oh. I just ran into town for a moment. I…” I paused. What should I do? Should I tell him? I looked down at the slip of paper in my hand then up at Archie who was smiling at me, his green eyes shimmering. But the more he studied me, the happy expression faded from his face.
His brow furrowed. “Is everything all right?”
I shook my head. Pulling off my coat, I crossed the room and took Archie by the arm. “I need your help,” I said in a low whisper.
“You look upset. What is it? Can I help?” he replied.
I nodded. “Come with me.” Leading Archie in the direction of the library, I handed him the paper. “Can you read that?” I asked.
He studied the paper. “What language is this?”
“That is an excellent question.”
“What is it?”
“Apparently, it’s the title of a book.”
“A book?”
I nodded. “One I need to find at once.”
Slipping down the narrow hallway, Archie and I arrived at the library.
“Scarlette, what’s going on?” Archie asked.
“It’s hard—no, impossible—to explain. I just need that book. You check foreign languages,” I said, pointing to a shelf. “I’ll check folklore.”
“Scarlette,” Archie said, giving me a pleading look.
“Please, Archie. I must hurry.”
“All right.”
Sliding the ladder to the folklore section of the stacks, I slipped up the steps and began scanning. My fingers danced across the spines of the books. I couldn’t find it. I looked at row upon row. As I did, my anxiety rose. It wasn’t here.
“Anything?” I called to Archie.
“Not yet.”
I checked the entire folklore and fairy tales sections. It wasn’t there. Climbing back down, I moved the ladder along its rails to the books on religion.
“Scarlette, do you want me to fetch Earl Walpole? Surely, he will know where the book is to be found. And maybe even the language.”
“No, not yet.”
I checked every book on religion. Nothing.
“Not here,” Archie said. “Do you know what the book is about?”
“Maybe…maybe, magic?”
“Magic?”
I nodded.
Archie looked at me, stroking his chin as he considered the issue. “Scarlette, you must tell me what you have seen.”
“I…well, I don’t know exactly,” I replied.
“Does this have something to do with those merchants you’ve seen in the woods?”
“Yes.”
“The ones that aren’t there anymore.”
“They are there. They just aren’t…”
“Aren’t what?”
“Aren’t what they seem.”
“You mean, they aren’t human,” Archie said. His tone was so matter-of-fact, I didn’t know what to say.
“Why don’t you look surprised? Or confused. Or alarmed. Or…”
Archie looked over his shoulder. He tapped the pin on his lapel, the R.M. encapsulated by a circle. “No one in this house would be surprised. It is an issue that concerns all of us.”
“What are you saying?”
“That we know. Now, tell me what you saw.”
“I’m not sure. If I had to pick a word, it would be goblins. A goblin market. I thought they were just merchants, traveling vendors. They were so insistent. I avoided them until…”
Archie inhaled and stiffened. “Please don’t tell me you bought something.”
“I…”
“Please don’t tell me you tasted any of their fruits, their sweets—“
“No, no. I didn’t. But I did buy.”
“What did you buy?”
“Hagstones.”
Archie’s brow furrowed. “Why?”
“My gnomes. I must be going mad. Archie, I sewed the hagstones into the gnomes, gave them heart, just as your grandfather said. And they…they came to life. I didn’t see it with my own eyes, but all the work at the Two Sisters was done overnight. The gnomes did the work. They came alive because of those stones. But the goblins have taken my windup key, and they’ve threatened to do more, do worse, unless I bring them the book.”
“Scarlette, you must never bargain with goblin men.”
“Who would believe such a thing exists?”
He nodded stoically then looked at the yellowed paper in his hand once more.
I glanced around the room then considered the problem once more. Why would goblins want a book? What rare piece of information could it hold?
I gasped. “Rare books,” I said then ran to the other side of the library. Fingering through the shelf, I finally discovered a very small book with brittle binding. Along its edge was written the name of the title in the unfamiliar language.
“Is that it?” Archie asked.
I nodded. Gently removing the book, which was so small it could fit in the palm of my hand, I set it on the table. The paper was thin, the binding so old, that flakes of the cover came off. Turning the pages gently, and keeping in mind that Uncle Horace always wore white gloves when handling his rare tomes, I looked inside.