Page 10 of The Curse of Indy Moore
The room fared worse than predicted. The horribly burnt orange carpet was torn up—I would argue for the better because it was ghastly—and the furniture was gnawed beyond saving. Also, for the best, the fabric had the most unconventional flower shapes that reminded me far too much of genitalia. Broken pieces of porcelain that had been suspended from the empty hooks on the walls covered the floor.Whoever enjoyed their tea sets would be upset to find them so crudely discarded. They, at least, would have been worth salvaging, as they were covered in depictions of less scanty fruits.
“What happened here?” I asked.
“You did.” Miss Beamy hopped on the windowsill to lick her paws. “Tore right through the house until Ivy locked you in here. A good thing, too, for I was considering teaching you a lesson.”
“But how did I…” What laid beyond the cat led me to silence.
Miss Beamy hissed when I opened the window. Three wind chimes made of colored glass clicked above my head. The Ivory House was a poor name, for it wasn’t a house but a castle. Dozens of towers, mismatched in colors and shapes, leaned at questionable angles. Their steeples, coated in moss and vines, sat upon a stark backdrop of an open blue sky. Beyond them, over the trees, a cliff surrounded the castle on all sides. A cool breeze accompanied the pleasant aroma of wildflowers, neither of which I appreciated as I gazed to our left, where mountaintops coated in white passed by.
My stomach churned, wishing not to believe my eyes as the mountains moved, falling behind us. “The castle is on a mountain, yes?”
“Of course not. We are on an island,” said Miss Beamy.
“A flying island?”
“Correct.” Miss Beamy tilted her head. “Poor girl, you have grown pale.”
I plummeted to my knees, containing the abrupt urge to vomit. How high up were we? I feared to ask, feared even more that the ground beneath us would give out. I told myself not to fret. The floor was sturdy beneath my feet, and the land was powerful enough to keep us high above, otherwise the artificer wouldn’t be traveling in such a manner. The world would not fall out from under me. Absolutely not.
But if it did, there would be a long fall, and I wasn’t entirely sure we would die on impact. Maybe we would because an island so large would implode? Explode? The two were different, I think, and either should cause an immediate and painless demise. Hopefully…
I never believed myself to be fearful of heights. Before Mom died, I lived in Cavehallow with her, where I perused the streets alongside the other kids. We ran across rooftops and climbed the clock tower overlooking the city. There, we sat on the trim, sucking on stolen sugar sticks, uncaring of the fall. I trusted my feet to keep me steady and my hands to catch me should I slip, but they didn’t help at this height.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
“I suppose if you are to get sick, it would be fine in here. You ruined the floors already,” Miss Beamy said while continuing to prim herself clean.
“I could not have done this. You must be mistaken.” I would recall tearing a room to shreds and throwing my naked self into a closet.
Well, I would argue I wouldn’t throw my naked self into a closet, but I had been quite panicked last night, so perhaps I had a momentary lapse of judgement.
“Devils be!” A rough voice shouted from outside the room. “Whatever happened here, did we hit another flock of migrant birds?”
“Not exactly,” Miss Beamy replied.
I kept my eyes on the door, uncertain of how I felt about Miss Beamy marking our location to this Otis man she mentioned. I didn’t know who he was, why I was there, what happened, and if he had anything to do with it. The last stranger sent wolves after me and tried to steal my soul, so I was understandably less than eager to meet anyone new.
“You couldn’t possibly have done this while chasing Slate again, right, Beamy?” the stranger asked.
“First, Slate is the one who makes a mess, not I. Second, Slate is not here, and last,” a man stepped through the threshold as Miss Beamy finished, “She is the one at fault.”
Otis stood in the doorway, a kind face surrounded by a thick peppered beard. Though he stood on the shorter side, his frame filled the threshold. A leather satchel hung off his arm, and he adjusted a pair of squared glasses on his crooked brown nose. Like Carline, he didn’t scream demon in that pale green petticoat one size too small, but I was proven wrong before.
Walking further into the room, his cane cast aside the broken porcelain. “Hello there,” he said. “Miss Beamy, do you care to explain what this young stranger is doing in our home?”
“Ask Ivy. It let her in, and she made the mess.”
“I didn’t mean to, or rather, I don’t know if I did. I apologize for the intrusion,” I said skeptically.
“Ivy wouldn’t let anyone in who intended to do us harm. It knows a person’s heart well.” Otis bent slightly in a bow. His wooden right leg, constructed of birch wood, creaked from the angle. “Let us start with a proper introduction. I am Otis Thatcher, retired botanist professor of Trinity Schoolhouse, and now a traveling science artificer.”
I hesitated to reply, thinking of Carline, a demon hiding behind a kind facade, waiting for an unfortunate soul to let their guard down. However, an artificer like Mr. Thatcher could potentially explain why a demon came to our woodlands and how to be rid of her. Artificers were of magic, a world I had never been privy to. Once, they were believed to be demons themselves, long ago when the world feared them and their magic. Though that had been disproven, I would argue most artificers were demonic in nature with their less-than-friendly demeanors, but Mr. Thatcher could prove useful in protecting Westshire from Carline’s terror. If he wasn’t, well, I had learned I was rather impressive at running.
“I am Indy Moore, a very confused farm girl,” I replied.
“A pleasure, Miss Moore.” Mr. Thatcher dropped a hand into his satchel to retrieve a circular container. “Would you like a salve for those wounds? They don’t seem bad, but one can never be too careful with infections.”
“Very true. Thank you, sir.” I accepted the salve to breathe in the scent. It smelled right enough, so I took a small amount to rub on my neck and head.
