Chapter Thirteen – Luck
Molly didn't quite know what to make of Martha Hudson. Just as she thought she had the woman figured out, she would say something totally outrageous, and Molly would have to sort out her feelings about her all over. She didn't believe for a moment the woman was a Seer. Martha Hudson was a nosey old busy body and nothing more. Sometimes, the older woman would get all mysterious and spout off incredibly strange things. For instance, one day Martha fixed her bright eyes on Molly and said:
"It just won't do, you know. There is no need to get upset about it. You will just have to swallow your pride and accept that you will always be second in Sherlock's life."
Molly stared in confusion. What was she going on about now?
"The way Sherlock flirts with danger, he needs someone to watch his back." Mrs. Hudson said calmly. "Someone trained to protect and defend. He can do that, and he will be a good friend to both of you."
"Whom are you talking about?" Molly demanded in a bewildered voice. She was thankful Sherlock and the pixies had decided to go on ahead for a bit in order to allow Molly and the strange old woman some privacy to answer the call of nature. Thank goodness he was not around to hear this nonsense.
"I'm just saying, most women would get jealous if their man became so close to another. You must learn to accept what you cannot change. That will be best for everyone concerned." Mrs. Hudson said as she walked back to where her donkey was waiting.
"Look," Molly said tersely, forcing herself to not put her hands on her hips as she stared at the seer, "I don't know what you are talking about, but Sherlock is not now, nor ever will be my man!" She glared at the elderly woman as she helped her back onto the patient donkey. "And as for another man, especially one who is nonexistent, I don't think that is any of your concern." Molly paused, and then walked off in a huff. "Sherlock can do as he wishes, I don't own him," she said over her shoulder.
Mrs. Hudson just shook her head and tutted to herself that girls in her day would know how to show more respect to their elders.
That wasn't the end of the old woman's strange observations. Another time Martha stared at Molly in horror and shouted;
"No you stupid girl. You have the wrong one! It will be the ruin of everything!" Molly stopped making tea. Her hand hovered over the pot of boiling water. She frowned, there was only one pot, and the tea was the same she always used.
"What are you talking about now old woman?"Pylar demanded angrily. They were camped for the night and the pixies were busy helping to prepare the evening meal.
Mrs. Hudson jerked out of her trance, but did not answer. She just curled up in her blanket, refused food, and kept muttering as tears streaked down the skin of her papery face. Molly felt terrible. She felt like she needed to apologize, but she wasn't sure of what to apologize for.
The final straw came one afternoon. Molly had stopped to gather a few sprigs of feverfew when Mrs. Hudson went into a light trance and shouted loudly for all to hear, "Molly, you need to catch his attention! You need to dress better! You look about as appealing as a cabbage in that dress."
"What?" Molly shrieked. "And where in this light forsaken forest do you think I will find new clothing?"
Pylar snorted and said, "Perhaps she thinks you should clad yourself in moonbeams and starshine Molly." The pixies began to giggle merrily and even Sherlock grinned.
"You have to admit, Molly, your dress sense is severely lacking finesse," Sherlock smiled.
"I'll have you know my clothing is modest and as clean as I can manage while traveling. Your clothes aren't much more appealing," she added with a small huff.
"Perhaps you should both try moonbeams and starshine," Twiggy giggled. " That way, you both could be beautiful." Sherlock's face turned beet red. Molly huffed and stomped on ahead of the group unwilling to make a comment.
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As the days passed, Sherlock noticed that Molly began to walk up front with him more often. He knew she was avoiding Mrs. Hudson, but was secretly pleased nevertheless. It gave him more time to observe and converse with the herbalist. He was surprised to find her quite educated and well informed for a village woman. She would fit in at court without any problems and could probably outshine most women there. It was unusual for women to know how to read and write. Molly could not only do both in English, but French and Latin as well. He discovered they had much to talk about. He especially enjoyed teaching her about magic. Once she changed her mind about the idea that all magic was evil, she was like a sponge. They talked for hours as they travelled, and often late into the night as they sat about the glowing embers of the campfire.
"And you actually turned yourself invisible?" Molly asked with a note of incredulousness and awe in her voice.
Sherlock smiled fondly at her. Molly could be quite complimentary when she chose. "It was magic, an illusion, albeit a good one," he admitted rather more modestly than usual. She seemed to bring that out in him. The sudden thought came to him that he quite enjoyed Molly Hooper. It surprised him that the thought did not seem to bother him as much as it once would have. He supposed it was being around her all the time. Perhaps they could be even called friends. And if he occasionally thought about what she might look like clothed in star shine and moonbeams…well, he cleared his throat and pushed the thought into his mind fort/crystal cave. He would think about that some other time.
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One day, the small party of adventurers came to the edge of a deep ravine. There was a narrow rocky path that spiraled downward, twisting and turning until it disappeared around the corner of some brush and rocks.
"We are going down that?" Molly asked in a horrified voice. "Surely there is a safer passage?"
Pylar shook his head. "To get to the other side, you must go down into Wendemire Ghyll, then follow the beck until the land widens out into the Valley of Shadow. This is as far as we go, my friends. Pixie territory ends at the top of this ravine."
"Take care on the path downward. The rocks crumble easily and slides are not uncommon," Aacrum said.
The small group gathered at the edge of the ravine and peered over the steep side. Aacrum was right. Loose boulders lay everywhere. The exposed shingle was weathered and footing promised to be slippery and treacherous.
"Oh, I have a bad feeling about this," Martha Hudson wailed. "We must be exceedingly cautious from this point onward."
Twiggy shook her head in disgust. "The old bat probably thinks she sees an omen! As if anyone with common sense couldn't figure out the path ahead is dangerous! Molly, you would be better to use your brains and not depend on the caterwauling of cantankerous old crones!"
Martha Hudson drew herself up firmly in the saddle and stared at the diminutive elf. "I come from a long line of oracles, young woman," she told Twiggy with a grim set of her mouth. "My mother was an oracle, as was my grandmother, and great-grandmother before her. For time immemorial the women of my line have foretold the future. When I say there is danger and treachery ahead, my words will prove the truth!"
Twiggy snorted, but kept her complaints to a low muttering under her breath.
Molly looked sideways to Sherlock. He did not appear afraid. His shoulders were straight and his face was a stoic mask that revealed little of what he thought of their situation. He was listening attentively to what the two pixie men were saying. Molly could see from their distressed faces that their warnings were indeed dire. Sherlock nodded but his face never changed.
"Molly," Twiggy's soft voice trilled, "please follow me." Twiggy headed into the surrounding forest a few steps, just far enough to conceal them both from Martha Hudson's eagle eyes. "I have a parting gift I wish to give you," Twiggy said a little hesitantly. She pulled a small ring from her little finger and handed it to Molly. It lay in Molly's hand, a tiny circle of gold and sparkle. "Please put it on the little finger of you right hand," Twiggy said shyly.
"It's too small," Molly whispered. "Twiggy, this is very lovely, but you needn't give this to me."
Twiggly smiled. "Try it," she encouraged.
Molly felt a little silly; the ring was so small there was no way it would even begin to fit her huge finger. Her eyes widened in surprise as the tiny circle of gold slid easily onto her hand. She looked at Twiggy in wonder. "It's magic!" she said.
"Yes," Twiggy confirmed. It is an Auratruth Ring. Look at the stone in the setting. Molly looked down at the clear crystal stone sparkling in the ring. Twiggy placed her hand on Molly's, and the stone changed color from clear to a deep lovely shade of blue. She gasped slightly and Twiggy laughed.
"When the stone turns blue, it indicates true friendship."
"Oh Twiggy, this is wondrous!" Molly breathed.
"Do not ever take it off. Once the ring is removed, it will not work for you again and must be passed on to another."
"This is not necessary, Twiggy! I have nothing to give you in return." Molly paused then smiled, "Yes, I do!" she pulled the small filigree locket from about her neck. Molly carefully opened the locket and worked the delicate hinge back and forth until it snapped. She handed the half without a chain to Twiggy.
"I'm sure one of your craftsmen can make a loop and add a chain." Now we are best friends forever as I have one half and you have the other."
Even though it was tiny in Molly's fingers, the heart was quite large in Twiggy's hands. Tears of joy streaked down the tiny woman's face as she looked up at Molly.
"Master Eldrin will be able to size it down for me." She said. "I will miss you Molly Hooper and I will think of you daily as I wear this lovely symbol of our friendship."
Molly placed her hand on Twiggy's and the stone in her ring glowed vividly blue. The girls laughed and smiled.
"The stone will display other colors as well." Twiggy said. "It shines purple for loyalty. Green shows envy or jealousy. Brown is for lies. It glows brighter the stronger the emotion. Pay attention especially for signs of love or hate. Take care when those colors appear."
"And what colors are indicative of those emotions?" Molly asked.
Twiggy answered, but at the same time Mrs. Hudson's donkey let out a loud bray and Molly wasn't sure what Twiggy said. It was something about crimson red and burnished gold. One meant love, the other hate. But which was which? Molly opened her mouth to ask, but the donkey brayed even louder and there was a bustling sound from the rest of the party. Aacrum and Pylar appeared and grabbed Twiggy and shouted that they needed to be on the road if they intended to get to a safe campsite for the night. Twiggy, not understanding Molly's frantic motions, waved goodbye and the three pixies mounted once more on the back of the beautiful hind, quickly faded into the depths of the forest. Mrs. Hudson's donkey was still making a ruckus. Molly sighed. She supposed it really didn't matter. She didn't have much luck with love, so she would be safe assuming which ever color showed up on her finger, was someone who didn't like her very much.
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They started down the steep descent into the ravine. Small pebbles and stones clattered off the narrow path with each step. Sherlock lead the way moving slowly and was followed by Mrs. Hudson riding her little donkey. Molly, who was last in line, was not sure she would have trusted the animal on such a dangerous path. Mrs. Hudson seemed calm about the whole thing.
"Bartholomew and I have been through trials more difficult than this," she told Molly as she patted the animal. "Old Bart and I will do just fine. Be careful, you wouldn't want to take a nasty spill here."
Molly watched a moment as the sure footed animal swayed a little as Martha Hudson adjusted the feather on her hat and patted her hair.
"Well come along dear, we don't have all day you know," Mrs. Hudson chided. "Mind your step."
Molly nodded in agreement and kept her eyes focused on the path in front of her small feet. She swallowed hard as a boulder from somewhere overhead crashed down and rolled across the path behind her. Treacherous did not begin to describe their present situation.
Walking in lead position, Sherlock frowned as he studied the path leading downward. Something was off. The pebbles were too perfect. If was almost as if they had been arranged on the path by someone. He carefully scanned the overhanging ledges above him. It was a perfect place for a trap.
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The cavern beneath the castle was dark and dank with the rich smells of dirt, mold, and decay. Hanging from the walls were chains and sinister looking items made of iron. It was a proper dungeon, complete with racks for torture and erotic pleasure. The woman standing in the middle of the space ignored all the accoutrements of pain. Before her was a small pool of water. Lady Irene watched as the water rippled and flowed silently in circles. She had been waiting for this for some time. The omens had warned her of the great power and resources of the wizard who would be traveling into her realm. She held out her arms over the pool and blanked her mind until she thought of nothing. Long minutes passed, then unbidden, three shapes formed on the surface of the pool. They appeared as they were in real life, climbing down the Windemere trail. The leader was a tall man. Irene smiled; he was young and rather good looking in hawkish kind of way. She was pleased that the expression on his face indicated intelligence. She so liked her pets to be brainy, it was more fun. He looked about suspiciously. Good, he was aware that the path had been tampered with. She enjoyed a challenge.
Irene became aware that she was no longer alone. Smooth fingers slid around her neck and a velvety dark voice whispered in her ear.
"Is this Him?" The fingers continued to slide back and forth around the heavy leather collar on her neck.
"Yes, his name is Sherlock of Holmes. I recognize his description," Irene answered.
"And is he as powerful as reported? Can you tell?" The smooth voice asked as he tightened his fingers about the collar and drew her back onto his shoulder.
"Yes," Irene croaked slightly as she desperately tried to pull air into her lungs.
"Good. You have done well, my little pet. Soon my dear, his power shall belong to us. With so much power, we will rule the world!"
There was a slight hint of madness in the voice. The fingers gave one more tug and then the tightness about her neck was gone. Irene breathed a sigh of relief. She continued to draw air deeply, but quietly. it was not a good idea to let him see how much he disturbed her. He controlled her now, but soon, she would have enough power to break free. Power, within power, within power. A pretty little game and a chance to rule them all! She gave a silent sigh of relief when her Master left the room.
Her attention returned to the pool of water and the forms of the three people and a donkey moving steadily downward. It was time to shake up Sherlock of Holmes' world a bit. His companions were unnecessary complications. The old lady was utterly worthless. The girl was pretty. A shame really, she liked pretty girls. Irene made a spur of the moment decision and smiled to herself. Perhaps the girl would survive, perhaps not, she would allow the fates to choose. It was time. The travelers were in the right position.
Lady Irene wiggled a crimson tipped finger and watched raptly as her command began a chain reaction. She leaned forward as the man abruptly turned and shouted something to his companions.
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Sherlock saw the trap as he turned, but his warning came seconds too late. One of the donkey's hooves brushed the small stack of stones, causing them to topple slowly over the edge and clatter down the steep sides of the ravine. Then in an almost ridiculous manner, the larger boulders that had been carefully placed just so, began to wobble. The donkey, carrying a startled Mrs. Hudson, managed to scramble to safety, but there was no such luck for Molly Hooper. Sherlock watched in horror as boulders crashed down from above. When the racket of the tumbling stones faded away there was nothing left of where Molly had been. Even the path was gone.
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Irene gave a satisfied sigh. Now, it was time to give some attention to her house guest. She walked slowly in a sultry manner across the wide open space to a doorway to a smaller chamber. She casually picked up a riding crop and smiled at the man chained to the wall. Holding the leather tip under his chin, she began to croon.
"Now, John dear. Are you ready to tell me how to find the secret entrance into Holmes Castle?"
Sir John looked her straight in the eye and turned his head and spat blood and a loose tooth onto the floor.
"I take that as a no," Irene said.
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GHYLL: A ravine or valley inclosing a small water-course.
BECK: A small stream.