Grandfather's Toys

Jean Rabe

 

The druid stood before the weathered oak door of the tower. His wheat-colored hair lay plastered against his neck, and his dark green tunic clung slickly, like a second skin, to his muscular frame. His embroidered cloak stretched to the grass behind him and tugged annoyingly at his neck as he tipped his head back and glanced upward through the soft, steady rain.

The tower's slate-gray stones merged with the dreary early evening sky, making it difficult for the druid to see the crenelated battlements. Squinting, he peered into the gloom and glimpsed a flicker of light from a window on the highest floor.

The druid dropped his gaze until his chin rested on his chest "I haven't seen him in years," he said softly.

A rushed sequence of chitters and squeaks issued from his tunic in reply.

"Yes. It has been too long."

The druid gently tugged the lacings of his tunic, loosening the material about his neck. A moment later a weasel's shiny black nose poked out from the V-neck of the sodden garment. The creature chittered again.

"All right. I'll hurry," the druid answered, stepping forward and rapping on the tower door.

An interminable time later the door groaned inward, revealing a figure draped in a hooded cloak.

"Galvin, my friend!" The speaker brushed aside the cowl, revealing rheumy blue eyes and skin that was as pale and wrinkled as crumpled parchment. White stubble edged the man's jaw. "You must help me! She's gone missing in my tower, and I can't find her. I'm very worried."

"Can't find who?"

A weak smile played at the old man's ashen lips. "My granddaughter." The old man paused. "Please, come in. You'll catch your death in this weather." Reaching out a shaky, age-speckled hand, the man grasped the druid's sleeve and drew him into the tower. "Oh, Galvin, I was afraid Elias wouldn't find you. I wasn't sure where you were living. And this storm..."

"Is not so bad, Drollo," the druid offered, extracting the weasel from his tunic. "Elias here doesn't seem to like the rain much, though."

The old man gingerly took the dripping weasel from the druid and scratched the top of its head. Elias squeaked loudly and stretched so its ear could be rubbed. The weasel shot an angry glance at the druid and squealed shrilly.

Galvin nodded to the animal and closed the tower door, muffling the patter of the rain and shutting out the sweet scent of the wet earth. After the long trek in the open air, the tower smelled musty. The druid wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Little of the thick, chiseled stone that made up the structure was visible on the inside. Paintings of fancifully dressed men and women competed with meticulously embroidered tapestries depicting life along the banks of the nearby Dragon Reach. In some places the tapestries and paintings overlapped. Galvin found himself staring at a partially covered tapestry showing several men putting a large boat out into the Reach. A satyr stood at the boat's prow, one hoofed leg up on the stern, an overlarge jacket wrapped about his human torso. The druid couldn't see the entire boat. A tapestry filled with prancing unicorns draped over it.

Beneath the paintings and tapestries, piles of labeled and unlabeled crates stretched across the length of the wall and reached as high as Calvin's chest. Bundles of folded clothes, stacks of colorful clay dishes, mismatched boots, smoke-tinted jars filled with glass beads, mounds of books, carefully balanced pyramids of scroll cases, and many objects the druid couldn't identify peeked out between the crates.

Galvin continued to gape at the dust-covered collection until a hand on his shoulder brought his attention back to the old man.

"My granddaughter," Drollo began. "She's only five. I was categorizing a new shipment when she wandered off. I'm afraid I wasn't paying attention to her."

"Your grandchildren are older than I am," the druid noted. When Drollo didn't reply, Galvin found himself staring at the old man.

At one time Drollo had been tall, with square shoulders and a long stride, but the seasons had taken their toll on his frame. Now he stood stooped over, his upper back a hump and his shoulders rounded and turned toward his chest. The skin hung on his bones as if it belonged to someone larger, falling in folds like the worn, oversized robes he wore. His wispy gray hair matched the color of the spiderwebs that clung to nearly everything in the tower. Only his eyes showed a spark.

With considerable effort Drollo bent and carefully placed the weasel on one of the few sections of slate floor that was free of clutter. The creature wriggled furiously to shake the rain from its fur, then darted around the pool of water forming from Calvin's dripping clothes and slid behind a crate marked "Alguduire feathers." The old man huffed, then stretched out an arm to grasp a nearby crate. Using it for support, he righted himself.

Drollo rubbed his hands together nervously and looked about for something. At last, after gathering his thoughts, he met the druid's gaze.

"I used to play with your grandchildren," Galvin said a bit more loudly. "I used to run after them in the marketplace close to three decades ago. They're older than I by several winters."

"Did I say 'granddaughter? Er, she's the child of one of my grandchildren, or one of my grandchildren's children," the old man said, shaking his head. "The years have sped by so quickly that I can't recall. She calls me Grandfather. That's what's important."

"And you're certain she's here?"

Drollo nodded absently. "Somewhere. I call her, but she doesn't answer. Maybe she's playing a game on me. Maybe she's hurt."

"Her mother?"

"Isaura. She's a hundred miles away," Drollo replied. "The girl's spending a few months with me. Isaura thought it would do me good to have some company. But she'll have little to do with me anymore if she learns of this."

"So you sent Elias for me." Calvin's tone was sympathetic. He could tell the old man was frightened, and the druid never remembered him being concerned about anyone-_only about the junk he collected. "How long has she been missing?"

"Two days," the old man answered quickly. "Perhaps three. But not more than that, I don't think. Time runs together." Drollo stared into Calvin's emerald green eyes. "I sent Elias as soon as I noticed her gone."

"We'll find her," Galvin stated simply, hoping his tone would help lessen Drollo's worry.

The druid tugged his cloak loose and glanced about for a rack. There was a pole-shaped object behind a large crate, but it was well out of reach. Shrugging, he laid the dripping garment across a tall, narrow crate lettered "frangible." Next came the boots. They made a slurping sound as he pulled them loose and water spilled out. The puddle beneath him grew to cover half of the entryway, and the water began to seep between the crates. He pulled his tunic over his head and laid it unceremoniously on top of the cloak, leaving his wet chest glistening in the light from the oil lamp overhead.

Elias poked its head out and chittered a scolding to the druid.

"The floor will dry," the druid told him.

Barefoot and shivering in the dampness of the tower, Galvin padded past Drollo, with the weasel scampering at his heels.

The lagging, shuffling footsteps of the old man followed the druid, who started picking his way down a hallway lined with a jumble of crates. In places the boxes were piled six feet high, as tall as Galvin, and the writing on most of the labels had faded with age. Dust blanketed many of the crates, showing they had not been moved in a long time. However, some had been tampered with recently. The druid noted small, round holes where mice had chewed their way into them.

Emerging into what he remembered as the sitting room, Galvin saw more crates and clutter. Stuffing spilled out of the furniture in places, adding to the disorder on the floor. Nicks covered the wooden arms and legs of chairs that Galvin recalled from his youth as being polished and perfect. The cushions and tabletops were cluttered with papers, knickknacks, and other objects. Only one piece of furniture, a large black leather chair, stood devoid of odds and ends.

“The woman was crazy to leave a little girl here," Galvin muttered.

The shuffling behind him stopped. "Oh, it didn't look quite this bad when the girl arrived a few weeks ago," Drollo nervously defended himself. "I'd picked up a bit and, er, cast a spell to hide all the crates and cover the dust."

The druid groaned and dropped to his knees. He peered under the furniture. Amongst the filth were scraps of paper and an old, toeless slipper that was much too large for Drollo.

Elias sprinted past the druid and dove into a mass of webs. The weasel returned a few moments later, trailing a cloud of gray-white webbing that was dotted with the husks of unfortunate insects. Elias brushed up against a table leg, knocking most of the webs loose, then began squeaking at the druid.

"Yes, I know she's not under there," Galvin replied. The druid rose to discover his wet leggings were coated with grime. Futilely he tried to brush them off.

"Her name?" Galvin turned to Drollo.

The old man beamed. "Isabelle. Named after my second wife."

"And you're certain she's still inside?"

"Oh, yes. She's too small to reach the door latch or the windowsills."

"And she's been missing two days, maybe three?"

"Yes," the old man stated simply.

Galvin rubbed his chin. "When I was her age," he mused aloud, "I occupied myself for days rummaging about your tower. But after two days she should have come out for a bite to eat-if she could." At once he regretted saying that, knowing the old man would fear the worst.

"The kitchen," the druid offered quickly. "If she's all right, she has to be looking for food. We'll start searching in the kitchen."

Drollo frowned and shifted his weight back and forth on his slippered feet.

"What is it?" Galvin asked curtly.

"She might not be hungry," Drollo suggested. "I have bits of food stashed all over the tower. I'm getting old, you know, and sometimes it's hard to get around. I keep things to eat here and there, so when I get hungry I don't have to come all the way downstairs to the kitchen."

The druid sighed. "Is she prone to playing games? Is it like her to just disappear like this?"

"She likes to play," Drollo said. "Hide-and-find is her favorite game."

The druid scanned the clutter. There were dozens of hiding places for a little girl in this room alone, and there were eight floors to the tower and a deep basement that had more than two levels. "You used magic to hide this mess," Galvin began. "Did you use magic to look for her?"

A pained expression crossed Drollo's face. "Oh, Galvin, would that I had that kind of magic. I can mask things, make something look like something else, make sounds appear out of silence, or silence something noisy. My magic doesn't have any real substance to it. I'm sorry." He chewed his lower lip. "What about your magic?"

"I'm a druid," Galvin noted flatly. "I can't do that sort of magic either."

"But you talk to Elias. And I've seen you talk to plants and rocks," Drollo stammered.

"I don't see how those skills are going to help us here."

Drollo blanched. "Then what are we going to do?"

"We're going to find her the old-fashioned way, by searching for her," Galvin sighed. "You start looking over there." He indicated the section of the room blanketed in sheafs of parchment.

"I've looked there. I think I've looked everywhere," Drollo moaned. "This is my fault."

The druid pointed again, and the old man complied, shuffling toward the parchment mound. Drollo began shuting through the mass. "Isabelle!" he called. Unsurprisingly, no one answered.

An hour later the druid was certain every inch of the room had been searched. There was no sign of a little girl.

Frustrated and sneezing, Galvin strode from the room and nearly bumped into a pile of crates in the hallway. "What's in all of these?" he asked. The old man pursed his lips. "Oh, things I've collected through the years. I've forgotten what's in most of them. You'd have to look at the labels. What room shall we try next?"

The druid continued to stare, dumbfounded, at the mounds of boxes and piles of books. If he were outdoors looking for someone, he would track them like a hunter tracks an animal. Broken branches, muddy footprints, flattened grass, and other clues would point the way.

Perhaps, Galvin thought, I was wrong about my magic, especially if I treat this collection of junk like the wilderness.

The druid looked around, searching for disturbed patches of webbing. His eyes rested on the base of a large crate. There, nearly hidden by the shadows, a mouse was tugging a pale pink ribbon into a hole. Galvin knelt and began squeaking to the mouse, but the little rodent was determined in its task and ignored the druid. Reaching forward, Galvin snatched the ribbon and squeaked again.

The mouse shuddered with fear, wriggled its nose, and darted into the hole.

Galvin rubbed his thumb across the silk ribbon, still shiny and new. "Isabelle's?" he asked.

The old man looked at the ribbon, then nodded slowly.

"I'm tracking her," the druid said simply. "Let's try the next floor."

Only a pathway at the center of the stairs to the upper floors was clear of debris. An accumulation of junk rested against each banister. Galvin scanned the collection of chair legs and discarded oil lamps, pausing only when he spied a brass vase precariously poised on a step halfway up. He carefully picked his way through the hodgepodge and knelt by the vase. Elias darted under Calvin's arm and sniffed it, black, beady eyes reflecting warmly in the curved surface. The weasel chartered uneasily.

"Yes, it's unusual," the druid answered.

"What?" Drollo huffed as he climbed the stairs, a thick candle in his right hand. "You found something?"

Grasping the vase at the rim, the druid turned and sat on the step to face the old man. "This vase," Galvin began. "It's peculiar."

Drollo arched his eyebrows. "Look at my collection later, Galvin. My granddaughter is more important than a hunk of brass."

"Don't you see?" the druid continued. "It's out of place. It's clean. There's not a spot of dirt anywhere on it."

The old man shook his head. "It's not out of place. It's new. I got that a few days ago. It was in a shipment from Callidyrr." He paused for a moment, then spoke more rapidly. "A shipment I opened in my study! Galvin, I didn't put that vase here."

"Isabelle might have," the druid surmised. Placing the vase back on the step, he stood, pivoted, and sprinted to the landing above. Elias bounded after him, pausing only to glance back at the old man, who followed.

On the landing Galvin scrutinized the piles of odds and ends, which were beginning to resemble every other cache of junk in the tower. What would possess a man to hoard so much? the druid pondered. Drollo was like the most greedy of dragons, he decided. He collected anything remotely valuable, then let it sit and gather dust.

Well, in that much Drollo differed from the dragons Galvin had chanced upon in his journeys: the great wyrms tended to keep their wealth relatively clean. And it was easy to walk around in their caves-if you were an invited guest, of course.

The druid lay down on the landing and glanced around. The weasel clung to his shoulder and continued to squeak. Its small face turned from side to side as if it were imitating Galvin.

"I'm looking at things from a child's-eye-view," the druid told Elias, pushing the weasel out of the way.

"That's smart of you," Drollo gasped, nearly out of breath from the effort of climbing. "I hadn't thought of that."

Without a word, Galvin rose and padded toward a door off the landing. It was partially blocked by a stand filled with intricately carved staves inlaid with silver and gold, but there was just enough space in the doorway for a child to squeeze through. Galvin moved the staves, though he nearly dropped the entire stand when one staff began to twinkle and twitch.

As he'd suspected, the ever-present spiderwebs had recently been disturbed around the door. Keeping an eye on the magical staff, he reached for the latch. He stopped, spying small smudges on the knob-traces of Isabelle.

"I'm not such a bad detective after all," he noted reassuringly to Drollo, then turned the handle and went inside.

The druid had to shield his eyes, for the room beyond was as bright as a sunny day. The source of the light was a glowing yellow globe dangling low, just inside the doorway. The ceiling, as cracked as the earth in a dry riverbed, was painted a warm and inviting shade of rose. The color of the walls was a darker shade of rose, though much of it was hidden behind Drollo's myriad possessions.

"Isabelle," Galvin called. "I'm a friend. I'm here with your grandfather. Please come out."

He glided farther into the room and was overwhelmed by a smell that was at once acrid and fruity-no doubt the remains of a meal lost amidst the junk.

"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.

The druid was confused. All but two? All but Drollo's two feet?

No, Galvin growled. You're remembering Drollo's children and his grandchildren. That was a long time ago.

Short time, the stone corrected.

Galvin chided himself wordlessly. Stone existed for an interminable time. The life span of a human could seem like mere moments to it.

Think, Galvin coaxed. The last two pebble feet.

Always up and down us.

Yes.

Smooth like us, the stone continued. Always stopping to... to... look at things resting on us.

The junk, Galvin clarified, picturing the mounds of debris stacked high against each railing.

Junk, the stone groaned. Yes. Can't see through it. Want it to go away.

Galvin sighed. I'll see what I can do, he offered. But first, help me. Those pebble feet, where did they go?

Moments ago, the stone began, choosing words from Calvin's mind. Pebble feet went up, up, up. Near the top, but not the top. Did not come back down.

So she's still in the tower, Galvin concluded, perhaps hiding on the second or third floor from the top. He was grateful he wouldn't have to search all the levels below. With luck, it wouldn't be long now and the girl would be safely back with Drollo.

The druid thanked the stone and began to separate his mind from the steps, when the marble added, A moment later the. . . thing... came down and went away.

Thing?

The stone growled, loud enough that Galvin was certain even Drollo heard it. In the end, the stairway explained in simple terms that it had no words for what descended shortly after the girl climbed to the upper floors.

Is the thing here now? the druid continued.

No. Gone like all the pebble feet. Come and go. Up and down. Up . . .

"Galvin? Galvin? Are you all right?" The words belonged to Drollo, who bent next to the druid, shaking him.

Galvin slowly opened his eyes, reluctantly discovering his connection with the steps severed. This was the longest conversation he'd ever managed with stone, and the effort had apparently caused him to pass out. He lifted a heavy hand to his throbbing head. His arm felt stiff, and his pallor was tinged with gray.

"Galvin?"

"I'm all right, Drollo. Let's go upstairs. I think we'll find Isabella there."

The old man beamed and helped Galvin to his feet. The trek up the stairs seemed a lengthy one to the druid; he paused at each landing to rest a moment. Drollo and Elias had no trouble keeping up with Calvin's sluggish pace. However, the druid had trouble keeping up with the old man's questions.

"So my steps told you she's up here?"

"Something like that," the druid answered.

"They saw her?"

"They paid more attention to her feet."

"Galvin, this is wonderful. After I have my Isabelle back, could you teach me to talk to the steps?"

"I'll think about it," the druid said flatly. Then a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "You'll have to clean them off before they'll talk to you, though."

"I can do that."

At the sixth landing Galvin looked out a thin window. It was dark outside, and the rain had stopped. The moon, high in the sky, was poking through the clouds. Gathering his energy, he climbed to the seventh landing and faced an opened door.

"Isabelle?" the druid called softly. "Isabelle?"

No answer.

Another search then, the druid decided. The weasel chit-tered animatedly, wrinkled its nose, then squeaked and began running about the jumble.

"Yes, you can help us look for her," Galvin sighed.

To the druid this room looked like the rest of Drollo's tower, packed with an assortment of oddities and lined with crates containing more unused things. It was as filthy as the other rooms, but Galvin could see patches where the dirt had been wiped free by small feet. He strode forward, Drollo shuffling behind him.

The dust on many of the small crates was dotted with tiny fingerprints. Packing material lay strewn about some of the crates, and the contents-a veritable treasure trove of useless objects-covered the floor. The druid noted that the crates were all labeled in flowing Elvish script. Intrigued, he began searching the room more carefully, paying attention this time to the words on each crate.

Behind him, Galvin heard Drollo rummaging around. Elias was searching, too. The weasel's plaintive squeaks nearly drowned out the old man's rustling.

At last Galvin's eyes settled on a particularly large crate set against a wall, one that had been pried open. There was little stuffing near it, so whatever had occupied the crate had likely taken up most of the space. He ran his fingers along the rough wood and read the Elvish label.

"Oh, no," the druid whispered.

"Isabelle!" Drollo continued to call.

"Drollo," the druid began. "Do you do any trading with the sea elves in the Dragon Reach?"

"No," came a muffled reply. The old man had his head stuck into a crate. "Well, at least not anymore."

"You did at one time?"

"Yes. Quite a few years ago. I don't go down to the shore much nowadays. The sea air makes my bones ache."

The druid scowled and reread the label. "Drollo, stop looking," he said quietly. "She's not here."

"We'll go on to the next room, then."

"No. She's not in the tower."

The old man's face turned ashen, and Galvin quickly added, "But I know where she went. Don't worry. I'll go get her."

"I'm-I'm coming with you," the old man stammered.

"Not where I'm going."

With that, Galvin bounded down the stairs. Elias was fast on his heels. When the druid reached the bottom of the stairs, he glanced back and saw Drollo just starting to descend.

"Stay here," he cautioned. "I'll be back with Isabelle."

Galvin hoped he sounded confident enough, because he wasn't sure he could locate the girl. Still, he didn't want the old man to follow him. Then he would have two people to worry about.

Throwing open the tower door, he ran out into the damp night.

"Your boots," he heard Drollo call.

But the druid continued to run. Boots were the last things he'd need where he was going.

Galvin angled his path away from the tower and toward the south. In the distance he heard waves washing up on the beach. Overhead, the clouds were thinning, pushed away by a freshening breeze. By the time the druid reached the beach the moon was fully visible, shedding light on the night-black waters of the Dragon Reach.

With shrinking confidence, Galvin ventured into the surf. The cool water swirled about his ankles, then his knees. A wave came in, splashing him thoroughly and plastering his leggings to him like a second skin. He waded out farther and began to concentrate.

The druid willed his face to become more angular. His nose and mouth extended outward, and his skin became blue-gray. He hurled himself headfirst into the water as the transformation continued. His arms shortened, became thinner, then took on the appearance of flippers. His shoulders flattened, joined with the fins, and pressed close to his changing torso. His legs grew together into a muscular tail; waving rhythmically, strongly, the tail propelled the dolphin that was Galvin farther into the Dragon Reach.

The dolphin covered miles, darting in and out of sea caves that stretched across the Reach. The seascape was rocky, with spires of stone twisting upward, cloaked by patches of reedlike plants. Beyond the caves the seabed flattened, the evenness disrupted here and there by large rocks and giant clams. Colorful seaweed extended toward the surface and moved with the current. Farther into the Reach the seabed dropped off sharply-"the Cliff," the sea elves called it. The cliff's wall was a large coral reef of brilliant hues that teemed with life.

Galvin swam back and forth across the reef, quizzing jellyfish, yellowtail damselfish, and patches of seaweed. He rose to the surface only for air. A queen angelfish, disturbed from its sleep, finally provided a few clues and sent Galvin past the Reach, into the deeper, cooler water of the Sea of Fallen Stars.

Here the terrain resembled a plain, with ripples in the sand marking shifts in the current. The plants were fewer and taller and not as colorful as the ones along the reef. Galvin swam deep, hugging the sandy bottom. He noted that the fish here were schooling, perhaps out of habit or because a large predator was nearby. He scanned the sand, looking for some unusual disturbance. However, all he saw were the fading reed-fine prints of lobsters and other shellfish; the current kept tracks from staying for more than a few minutes in the sand.

The druid continued his search, swimming miles out to sea. Finally he found a set of tracks that resembled cleft hoofprints; they were not made by any sea creatures familiar to the druid. Galvin followed the quickly dissipating tracks across the ocean floor. The druid knew he was scouting over the Death Knell, a shallow point in the Sea of Fallen Stars that was dangerous to deep-hulled ships.

Sparse patches of seaweed, some of it nearly torn free from the sea floor, provided still more information.

A monster that frightens all fish, said one clump.

A thing that tears us from the ground and leaves us to die, cried another.

The druid pieced together clues and continued on, many minutes later passing over a large, rectangular bed of kelp. He thrust with his tail and dove toward the bed. The kelp was planted in rows, and there were signs each plant was being carefully tended.

It was a garden, he decided, but whose? Sea elves, perhaps, though the elvish communities resided closer to the Reach. Besides, elves needed much larger gardens to sustain their tribes.

Galvin swam slowly, keeping about a foot above the bed. There was less chance the current would wipe away the tracks here, as the kelp helped to hold the pulse of the water at bay. At the far edge of the bed he found evidence of his quarry's passing; a section of kelp uprooted and strewn about. It looked as if a big dog had been digging in a row of carrots. Several pairs of deep hoofprints showed in the sand.

A half-hour more, and the object of the druid's search came into view. The thing, which seemed hard at work destroying a flowering sea-frond bed, resembled a cross between a bat and a wolf spider. Its bulbous body was nearly three feet across at the middle, and its round head was about a foot in diameter. Silvery pincers protruded from its bottom jaw and cut through the fronds with ease. Attached to what passed for shoulders were wings, scalloped like a bat's. The contraption sat atop two stubby goat-like legs that ended in hooves; the legs were alternately balancing the bulky body and uprooting plants.

The back of the contraption-for like Drollo's gnomish vermin catcher, this thing had never truly lived-was decorated with scrawls of red and blue. Various sized circles of green and yellow were clustered beneath its wings. The hooves were painted a bright red and edged with a light green trim. It was garish. And inside, visible through its rounded glass eyes, Galvin saw the grinning face of a little girl.

Like a manta ray, the device glided over the sea fronds, then stopped to uproot a row at the end. The bulbous spider's head turned from right to left, then stopped, spotting the dolphin.

Galvin swam behind a clump of seaweed as questions danced in his head. Is Isabelle controlling the thing, or is it running away with her? How am I going to bring it to land? How do I...

He paused and let the sea current wash the tumultuous thoughts away. I meet it head on, he decided. Determination showing in his black dolphin eyes, the druid shot out from behind the seaweed-then stopped short.

Galvin wasn't the only one to notice the garden-wrecker. Swimming rapidly toward the sea fronds and the spider-bat was a quartet of sahuagin, gill-men of the deep. Roughly humanoid and exceedingly muscular, they had scaly green bodies, long pointed ears, and webbed hands and feet. Each hefted a trident in one hand and a weighted net in the other.

The contraption and its passenger seemed oblivious to the threat and concentrated on dislodging more plants. Its bulbous spider head only turned toward the sahuagin when a hurled trident landed in the sand next to a cloven metal hoof.

Panicked, the druid propelled himself forward and willed another transformation to take place. His skin took on a darker shade of gray and expanded outward to accommodate his growing body. The dolphin fin atop his back enlarged and became more angular. His head grew thicker and flatter, his lungs swelled with water, and his once bottle-shaped mouth stretched and filled with a double row of sharp teeth.

The shark sped toward the sahuagin, who had already reached the spider-bat. The gill-men were circling the thing, three of them jabbing at it with their tridents while the fourth retrieved his weapon from the sand. Through the water Galvin heard their odd battle chant, a singsong drone. The chant rose in volume and culminated in a whoop when one of the sahuagin was victorious in thrusting his weapon through the spider-bat's wing, pinning the construct to the sea floor. The contraption began to circle madly, like a buzzing, wounded fly.

Galvin saw the frightened face of Isabelle through the spider-bat's bulbous glass eyes. He reached the nearest sahuagin just as it slammed the butt end of its trident against the contraption's head. Wincing inwardly, the druid watched a glass eye crack. This instant of delay gave the gill-man an opening.

The sahuagin whirled on the shark, leveling the barbed trident in Galvin's face. The druid found himself oddly transfixed by the sahuagin facing him, and the creature began moving its trident from side to side while mouthing something that was audible, yet foreign to Galvin's ears. It was a variation of a battle chant, perhaps. Whatever it was, the sound comforted Galvin's jangled nerves, and the druid felt himself growing sleepy. The sahuagin continued to drone, lulling his foe into a dreamlike state while the current nudged him away from Isabelle and the contraption.

The shark felt the water play all about its skin. It was so restful, so...

Kchink!

Through the water came the muffled sound of the tridents striking the metal of the construct. The noise roused the drifting shark. Forcing his tired eyes open, the druid watched the sahuagin hammer away at the spider-bat. A net had been placed over the thing's head to prevent the pincers from reaching out for them.

Kchink! Kchink! Kchink!

Galvin fought off the effects of the sahuagin's sleep spell. His mind began to clear, and he once again saw the gill-men as a threat to Isabelle. He swam forward, determined to rout the sahuagin from their grim task. As he raced through the water, the natural instincts of his adopted form took over.

This time when a gill-man began weaving his trident and droning, the shark focused his thoughts on the endangered little girl, shutting out the sounds that only moments before had seemed like a lullaby. Catching the chanting creature off guard, the shark darted under the trident and slammed his snout into the sahuagin's belly, pushing him backward into one of his fellows. The pair floated, stunned and unmoving, above the ocean floor.

The two remaining sahuagin turned their attention to the shark, which had veered away and was building up speed to come in for another attack.

Galvin felt a rush of pain as a trident jabbed deep into his side, just below a fin. Blood mingled with the seawater. He tried to ignore the pain, to press his attack; he was rewarded when he felt his teeth close about a gill-man's tough hide. Tearing like a savage animal, the shark shredded the sahuagin's armorlike scales and dug his teeth deeper into the torso. All the while he shook his head back and forth, turning the sea black with blood. The gill-man tried to extricate itself from the death grip, but it was no use.

Again pain shot through Galvin's flank, this time originating closer to his tail. Another trident jab, his mind screamed, feeling the barbs still embedded in his flesh. The shark opened his mouth, letting the dying sahuagin float to the ocean floor. In a pain-maddened frenzy, Galvin turned on the remaining gill-man, who was attempting to flee. He sped after the sahuagin, closing the distance with two swishes of his tail. Gleefully the druid rolled his eyes back, ready for another kill.

Stop! Galvin's mind screamed. The druid fought to regain control of himself, to quell the bloodlust overtaking his soul. Isabelle. Save Isabelle.

The shark slowed his pace and turned back toward the pinned contraption. Galvin continued to focus on Isabelle and the spider-bat, trying to avoid looking at the sahuagin corpses floating in his path. His thoughts were filled with self-recrimination. It wasn't uncommon for a druid to be overwhelmed by the animal instincts of a creature he imitated, but Galvin could never quite reconcile his love of Me with the strange, savage things he did when he transformed-even if such violence was integral to everyday life in the forest or the sea.

Sadly the druid clamped his jaws about the trident that pinned the spider-bat to the seabed. One yank and the weapon was free. Next he worked to get the trident free of his own hide. Then he quickly tugged the net loose from the spider-bat. Peering through the cracked glass eye, he saw the frightened little girl. Water was seeping into the construct; it sloshed all the way up to Isabelle's shoulders.

Galvin locked his jaws on the spider-bat's good wing and laboriously dragged it toward the surface. His wounds, though not serious, were painful, and he found himself thinking of the old man and Isabelle to keep himself moving. The druid's shark head broke the waves some time later, and he squinted in the face of the bright sunlight. The search for Isabelle had taken him well into the next day.

With the contraption in tow, the druid started the long swim back to shore.

Galvin resumed his human form in the shallows of the Dragon Reach, near Drollo's tower. He pulled the spider-bat a few feet up onto the sand, then lay back, ready to let exhaustion take him. His side ached from the trident wounds. Fortunately, they were more painful than life-threatening.

Just a brief rest, he thought, closing his eyes.

Clunk, clunk ka-thonk!

The sound roused Galvin and he watched the contraption's lid fall open. A blond-tressed head poked out. A sheepish, wide grin covered the girl's face.

"Hi!" Isabelle beamed between yawns. "Who're you?"

"A friend of your grandfather's," Galvin said softly, rising sluggishly to his feet and extending a hand to the soaked girl.

She grabbed it and scrambled out of the spider-bat.

"Will he be mad?" she asked quietly, pointing with a stubby finger at the contraption. "Will he be mad 'cause I broke one of his toys?"

Galvin shook his head. "No. He has plenty of others."

The walk up the beach to Drollo's tower seemed lengthy to the druid, who found himself inundated by the little girl's chatter along the way.

"Isabelle!" Drollo cried as he threw open the door. He ran out into the courtyard and lifted the girl into his arms.

"Oh, Grandfather," the girl squealed. "I've had such a wonderful time! There were water flowers and green men and a big shark! It was fun!"

Galvin frowned and pushed past the embracing pair into the entranceway, where he found his dry cloak. Throwing it on over his shoulders, he gathered up his tunic and boots and turned to see Drollo carrying the tired tot inside.

"Wherever did you find her?"

"Out beyond the Dragon Reach," the druid stated simply, pulling on his boots. He reached for his sword and strapped it about his waist.

"But, how did you know she'd be there?"

"You said you traded with the sea elves years ago," the druid began. "The Elvish writing on the big empty crate upstairs indicated it came from Mercea. That's a city a few dozen miles from here-underwater. As close as I could translate, the label described the contents as "one water spider." So I played a hunch that Isabelle, uh, borrowed your device. Knowing sea elf technology, I figured it would do its job whether she knew how to run it or not. And since Mercean water spiders are supposed to walk under the sea..."

“Thank Tymora your hunch was right!" Drollo chirped, setting Isabelle down on a clear section of floor and patting the top of her head. "Don't you get out of my sight, now," he instructed.

The little girl yawned and dutifully grabbed the hem of his robe.

"How can I ever repay you?" the old man asked. "I must do something. I must give you something."

The druid shook his head. He had no need for possessions, especially any of the junk cluttering up the tower. But as he turned to go, a thought occurred to the druid. Eyes twinkling, he spun around to face Drollo. "How about giving me some of your collection?"

"Yes! A splendid idea!" Drollo exclaimed. "As much as you can carry."

Galvin spent the next several hours toting an impossibly large sack up and down the tower stairs.

"What is this?" the druid asked on the top floor, pointing to a long cylindrical object aimed out the window.

"A star-watcher."

"Well, I don't need one of those. And this?" He gestured at a half-sphere covered with beads and bits of metal.

"I don't recall."

"Fine. I'll take it."

"What about this?" Galvin asked as they descended to the next floor.

"It's called a hudabit. Imported from Zhentil Keep. I'm not sure what it does."

"Good. I want it."

The druid pawed through a collection of gnomish devices and pointed at a small box covered with gears and dials. "What's this?"

The old man shrugged, and Galvin promptly put the box in his sack.

On and on the druid went, picking up anything the old man couldn't identify. By the time he was finished, Galvin was loaded down with satchels, pouches, sacks, and packs. He strained under the weight, and Drollo had to open the front door for him.

"Thank you, Galvin. For everything," Drollo said.

"Until swords part," the druid replied formally. "And fair days to you, Isabelle."

The little girl yawned and waved, but the weasel in her hands chittered in mock offense.

"Yes, I'll come back for a visit," Galvin told the weasel. "I'll not stay away so long again."

Like an overburdened peddler, Galvin staggered away, dragging his bundles for nearly a mile. At last, he found a shady copse of trees and dropped his gifts on the ground. The druid unstrapped his sword, stretched, and fell to all fours.

He willed another transformation. This one covered him with coarse gray fur and gave him long, sharp claws.

The badger started digging a hole at the base of a massive willow tree. Hours later, when the hole was deep enough for his purposes, Galvin returned to his human form. He deposited all the junk into the hole, covered it up, and stamped the earth flat.

He carefully loosened ferns and mosses from elsewhere in the copse and transplanted them over Drollo's buried possessions. Like a careful gardener, he arranged the plants and made it look as much as possible as if the ground had not been disturbed.

Satisfied that Drollo's toys would remain undiscovered, the druid strode south toward the Reach. He intended to have a chat with the sea elves of Mercea about selling water spiders to people who haven't the foggiest idea of how to use them.