"Would you be able to update me once you arrive?"
The nisse shook his head, hands busy readjusting a blanket. "Sorry, laddie. I'll try to pass yer message, though, if I can."
Holmes nodded and continued pacing. Ten more minutes, and Drofelbrek would owe him information. That would give him something.
"Are ye ever gonna stop?"
"No."
The dwarf let out a harrumph. "Ye're just pumpin' me for info. I shoulda listen to tha rabbit."
Fear prevented Holmes' amusement from materializing. "Never bet with incomplete information. Even Lestrade would tell you I can pace the night away."
Silence answered as Drofelbrek tried to ignore him. Tor's wide smirk announced the dwarf's evident failure, but Holmes paid them no mind. Even without the bet, he would never be able to sit still, not when they were this close to Thurso. Would the "big man," come soon? How was Watson? Would anyone be able to keep him updated while he waited?
Apparently not, and that only worried him more. The dwarf's irritation increased with every lap.
"Fine!" Drofelbrek finally growled. "I'll tell ye now. Just sit down."
He nearly fell into a seat, bouncing one foot though his full attention centered on the dwarf. Drofelbrek scowled at the movement.
"The big man has many names," he said gruffly. "Th' two I kin tell ye are Black Peter and Baba."
A pencil quickly scribbled those in his book. "And the city?"
The rabbit let out a growl, and Drofelbrek grumbled something about taking orders too literally.
"North," he answered simply. "Very north. If ye can deduce a week of events from a single room, ye c'n figure it out from that."
The train pulled to a stop, then the alarm in the corner blared, announcing Holmes needed to leave. He swung his carrysack over one shoulder.
"Thank you."
"Be patient, Mr. Holmes," Tor told him. "Another doc's been seein' to 'im while I travel, and tha big man'll come for ye as soon as 'e can."
The assurance did nothing for his worry, but he nodded anyway. They called farewells as he stepped to the platform, and, remembering Tor's instruction, Holmes stopped several feet away to look back.
"Highland Line" stretched across the top in gold letters, just as it did on every other car, but the words shimmered when the crew began turning the train around. The pins holding the car to the rest of the train sprang loose on their own, then "Highland Line" flickered and became "Polar Line." A moment later, the car shook then abruptly disappeared, and the third-class cars rolled forward of their own volition to recouple to the rest of the train.
Shock froze him in place. Polar Line. Coupled with their other hints, Holmes easily put the pieces together. If he had been riding the Polar Line, and his destination was "very north," Watson could only be in one place, with one person.
He would find his friend at the North Pole with Father Christmas.
"Stop. Right now."
Watson's unexpected growl silenced Holmes' diatribe midsentence, and he froze, stunned. The Irregulars had tried to convince him to track Father Christmas, but instead of letting Holmes refute the illogical search—Father Christmas was a load of poppycock, after all—Watson had quickly announced that Father Christmas would stop leaving them presents if Holmes tried that. The children had left disappointed but accepting, and Holmes had wondered aloud why Watson indulged the illogical. Despite nearly a week of disagreement, he had not anticipated the utter fury in Watson's tone.
"If you have nothing good to say," his friend continued, a white-knuckle grip on the back of his chair announcing just how very angry he was, "then say nothing. You will not ruin those children's holiday, and if I hear one more word out of you denouncing Father Christmas, the tooth faery, or any other creature of folklore, so help me you will not enjoy the consequences!"
Holmes had stared as Watson stormed out of the room, steaming pan of shortbread untouched on the table. By the time Holmes pulled himself together enough to go after his friend, Watson had long vanished into the crowds. Holmes had checked every possible place three times before he finally found his friend in Lestrade's guest room, but Watson had avoided him for over twenty-four hours and remained cool and distant for days—and no wonder, considering Holmes had been ridiculing Watson's lifelong friend. He should have listened the first time Watson contradicted him.
Would he be able to fix this?
The rabbit thumped the cobblestones at his feet, startling him out of his thoughts, and Holmes looked down to find the animal standing on its hind legs to force eye contact. A distracted thought wondered how the animal could have grown so much in mere days. He doubted it would fit in two cupped hands anymore.
Castle.
The low word inserted itself into his mind, prompting a flicker of surprise, though not as much as it would have two days ago. A deeper tone than he would have expected—if he expected anything—the word could only have come from the rabbit. He frowned but willingly looked around. What castle?
There.
Another thump on the cobblestones brought his attention back to the rabbit, and it pointedly looked behind him and to his right. He followed its gaze to an empty hill directly above the station.
Not empty. Ask.
Ask whom?
The air shimmered, then soft, tinkling laughter filled his ears. He reflectively took a step back when a small, semitransparent shape appeared not two feet in front of him. No longer than his thumb, a wispy, one-shouldered toga fluttered in the breeze of two transparent wings, and her tiny face squinted in a high-pitched giggle.
"Small, winged guardians," Drofelbrek had said, "specializing in cloaking magic."
"You are a sylph."
The shape bobbed a combined yes and hello.
Holmes glanced around the busy station, then put his hands behind his back and moved slightly closer.
Are you hiding a castle?
He stared, watching to see if the creature could hear him, and another soft laugh barely carried over the crowd. Elegantly pointed wings brought the tiny sylph to a hover directly in front of his face. He took that as a "yes."
May I know your name?
"Miya."
Her soft voice sounded like bells, he noted, almost singing the syllables the way his bow sung on the strings. Another tinkling laugh greeted his analogy.
How do I reach—
The rabbit shook its head, and Holmes rephrased.
How do I enter the castle, Miss Miya?
A lagomorphic nod said he had chosen rightly, and the sylph flit a circle around him.
"Follow me."
The east side of the station butted against both ocean and that empty hill, and she led them off the platform toward the cliff. The rabbit hopped behind as Holmes quickly followed, but she stopped a foot over the edge. The hill rose on his right, holding nothing but heather swaying in the breeze, while ocean waves crashed on the rocks below.
I thought the castle was on the hill?
A chuckle drifted from behind him. It is.
Then why—
Miya circled him again then resumed her hover over empty ocean. Perhaps she wanted him to follow? He stepped as close to the edge as he could without falling, then looked again for her translucent form. He finally found her further down the cliff face.
Where do I go?
"You must learn to listen and watch," she replied. Mrs. Hudson's warning from so long ago sounded strange to his ears, but Miya merely hovered closer. "Not everyone can see them."
See whom?
"Them," she answered simply. Tinkling laughter came from all directions as she rounded his head. "Land-humans need a bridge."
A bridge. That was a hint, and he looked at the cliff again. Could other sylph have hidden a bridge to keep the locals out?
They undoubtedly could have, he decided, but had they? He thought for a moment then knelt in the dirt to stretch out a hand. Immediately, his fingers met stone where his eyes saw nothing.
"Well done."
More laughter rang around him, then dozens of sylphs lifted away. Semitransparent bodies and wings glinted in the sunlight, redirecting the rays to resemble the Irregulars' accounts of faeries. He would have to look for sylphs near the courtyard when he returned to London.
Later, however. He could consider that later. A narrow, stone bridge ran over the waves for several feet before returning to the cliffs, and he quickly noted the dirt path winding through the rocks. The hillside trail provided an excellent view of the ocean and a bit of the town, but they did not have far to walk. Within minutes, Miya stopped again at the trail's end. The city sprawled below them, trickling to the cliffs and down towards the river, but the hill remained empty.
Where next?
"Inside." She hovered over his right shoulder to watch. "The door is open."
The door is open. Keen eyes scanned the hillside, but he saw no sign of a door—or a building—and a searching hand found nothing as well. Only heather blanketed the hill's summit.
"You must enter first."
Before seeing? How could he enter through a door he could not see?
"You must learn to stop questioning."
Mrs. Hudson's words again, then Miya simply stared at him. He could stand here forever, or he could step forward trusting that the other sylphs would let him pass. If he wanted to see Watson again, he needed to walk through the door.
That made the difference. He could rely on the view telling him that the hilltop stood empty, or he could rely on his guides to lead him to Watson. With one more glance at the tiny sylph, he took two steps into the heather.
He stood just inside an archway in the castle wall. Grassy spaces led to high walls that soared well over his head, and a variety of creatures hurried this way and that in front of him. Dwarves and nisse he recognized easily, but he also saw elves, faeries, and a winged creature rather like a sylph but entirely visible. Miya disappeared with yet another tinkling laugh as the rabbit led him toward the main door.
"Ursla, do you mind readjusting those tapestries? They're too low for the jotunn to clear."
The voice came from the far side of the entry, where a young lady directed a small crew cleaning an oddly shaped stain off the wall. Tapestries hung on either side of a nearby hallway, and scones, flowers, and flowing ribbons peppered the walls all around him. One section of the entry held several settees and armchairs in addition to the rugs covering most of the floor. The rabbit's determined hops took him directly to the young lady.
"Oh, hello!" She granted Holmes a bright smile. "Welcome to Gorfunkle Motel. Do you have a reservation?"
The rabbit voiced an irritated grunt, then gave a long, low whine. Welcoming turned to remorseful realization when she spotted the creature at Holmes' feet.
"My apologies." She stared for a moment. "Of course. This way."
Abandoning the others to their task, she led him to a high counter near the far wall. He waited as she flipped rapidly through a notebook.
"Here we are. The Family Suite. I'm glad Ursla got to that yesterday. We did not expect you so quickly, Mr. Holmes."
Only a concentrated effort prevented a biting reply. He had come as quickly as he could. Did everyone think he would stop searching for his friend?
"No." She gave an apologetic smile. "Mr. Kringle's reservation came through that evening, but we did not hear of your return until you boarded the train." A hand used a key off the back wall to reference the hall opposite where Ursla still fought with a tapestry. "Your room is at the top of the east stairs. Take a right, and the door will be the last on your right. Be sure to keep the balcony unobstructed. That is where Mr. Kringle will meet you. Meals are in the Dining Hall in the west wing, and if you need anything, there is a bell-pull next to the bed that will notify one of the staff."
"Thank you. Do I have any way of contacting Mr. Kringle? Can he tell me anything about Watson?"
"Unfortunately not," was the sympathetic reply. "Our human-friendly communications are down this month thanks to the jotunn incident. I am a nymph," she added at his questioning look. "An oread, to be precise. Mr. Kringle will be here as soon as he may."
She bustled off to help an elf struggling with the furniture, and the rabbit trailed behind until he found the door to his room. Humming quietly, it waited for him to look, then bounced, waved a farewell, and disappeared. Mr. Kringle would soon know Holmes had arrived.
Colorful designs decorated the walls to compliment thick rugs and wood furniture. A hearth sat in the far wall, with settee and armchairs nearby, and a desk took the other corner. A second, smaller room contained a bed, wash area, and a wardrobe, but he did not look further. He dropped his things, changed clothes, and went out to explore.
Motels always contained information. If he could not contact the source, he could find someone who had.
Holmes has finally made it to Thurso, but now he has a wait ahead of him. Do you think he'll find anything? Don't forget to drop your thoughts below! Reviews area always greatly appreciated :)