(advent) December 8

Monday, December 8

Molly looked around the tea room, making sure everyone was settled in. She avoided looking at the mantel, where Caliban’s vase had been. She couldn’t say why she’d smashed it, but it had seemed the right thing to do at the time. Now, however, she was second-guessing herself.

Stop it, she told herself, looking out over her small domain. You don’t need to borrow trouble. Go upstairs and see how everyone’s doing there.

Glad to have some direction, Molly took a carafe of hot water and went up the wide staircase to the second floor. CrossWinds Books had a large open space through the middle of the room, flanked on all sides by comfortable armchairs that headed up each aisle of bookshelves. Only three of these were occupied today, and two of them waved her off when they saw her emerge from the staircase. She nodded to them and went over to Father Christopher, who was deep within the latest Stephen King novel and didn’t react to her presence until she was almost beside him.

“That good, huh?” Molly said, grinning as he jumped a little.

“The man is a master,” Father Christopher said, holding out his tea cup to her. She obligingly topped it off. “Thank you.”

Molly was about to leave when she stopped, a thought hitting her, and she turned back to the priest. “Can I ask you something, Father Christopher?”

He tucked a scrap of ribbon into the book and closed it. “Certainly. What’s o n your mind?”

Molly dragged one of the other chairs over to him and sat down. “You know so much of the history of the Cove,” she said, putting the carafe down between them on the floor. “Do you know about the banishments of Jack Frost and Caliban?”

He blinked. “I wasn’t expecting that. Then again, considering what year it is, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“What do you mean?”

“This year is the 300th anniversary of the banishment,” Father Christopher said. “I assumed you knew, and that’s why you asked.”

Molly shook her head. “I had no idea. No, I asked because it seems like I’ve fallen into the middle of it.” She quickly filled him in, and then asked, “So I wondered if you knew anything about them. I’ve heard a bit from Old Man Winter, but he didn’t seem too happy with Caliban, and I need to know more about him.”

The priest thought for a moment. “Well, from everything I’ve read, Caliban was always kind of the third wheel. He was a little younger than Jack and the Snow Queen, and since he was a spirit of summer, he was an outsider that way. He and Jack were very close, though – like brothers.”

“Until they were banished,” Molly said.

“No, the break happened before that, from what the records I have say.” He chuckled at her look. “The Church keeps records of everything, Molly. Especially here in the Cove.”

“What do your records say?” she asked, leaning closer.

“I’d have to go reread everything to give you details, but the gist is that Caliban asked the Snow Queen to marry him and live with him in the Cove,” Father Christopher said. “Jack objected, and asked her to marry him. There was a fight between the two of them, and the Snow Queen stopped it by banishing both of them. My predecessor said part of it was because they didn’t care about the destruction their battle caused, and that there were deaths.”

“So it wasn’t raiders,” Molly said, thinking out loud. “She was angry that they didn’t respect the Cove and the people here the way she did.”

“That’s my feeling too,” Father Christopher agreed. “The Snow Queen has always cared for this town, and to see her two suitors destroy the very people they’d just pledged to protect not a month before showed her their true nature.”

Molly threaded her fingers together and rested them on her knee. “Did your predecessor have an opinion on either of them?”

“Not really,” Father Christopher said after a moment of thinking. “He was more concerned with recovering from the raids. This was right after the last big battle, remember. The one Captain Carter almost died in.”

“Right.” Molly nodded. “And the Cove survived because of the Snow Queen, Jack and Caliban’s help, right?”

“That’s what the records say. And they helped her lay the foundations of the protections the Cove enjoys now.” Father Christopher looked over at her. “Which is how she was able to banish them from her sight, as I understand. Why are you helping Jack?”

“Because Old Man Winter likes him?” Molly shrugged. “And because he reached out to me first. Honestly, that’s the biggest thing.”

“And why you’re going to meet Caliban tomorrow?” Father Christopher said shrewdly.

She nodded again. “I owe him at least a hearing.”

“You aren’t going alone, are you?”

“No, why?” Molly asked. “Do you think it’s dangerous too?”

Father Christopher hesitated, and then sighed. “Dangerous? Maybe. Maybe not. But I’ve heard…things about Caliban, things that make me question whether or not the Snow Queen was right to banish him.”

“Like what?” Molly leaned in closer, since his voice had gotten quieter.

“He’s…tempermental,” Father Christopher said after a few moments. “Not always, but when he feels slighted, he doesn’t back down. And there have been rumors that he is involved with some of the darker elementals that exist in other realms. Where are you meeting him?”

“Stumpleton,” Molly said. “I’m assuming neutral ground, since I’ve never heard of him being there. Really, I’ve never heard of him.”

“It’s not a portion of the Cove’s history that really gets talked about,” Father Christopher agreed. “Especially since the Snow Queen doesn’t like to have it remembered. I don’t think their memorial is even kept up anymore.”

“There’s a memorial?” Molly said, sitting up. “Where?”

“In the back of the Gate Station, I think,” Father Christopher said. “It’s not the official memorial, obviously, but according to the Church records, it’s where they signed the treaty that ended the battle.”

“Hmm, I wonder if I can get Pavel to stop there before we go to the inn tomorrow,” Molly said. “I’d like to see it.” She got up, moved the chair back and reclaimed her carafe. “Thank you, Father Christopher.”

“Be careful, Molly,” the priest said, putting a hand on her leg and stopping her. His blue eyes were very serious. “And if you want to come over and look at the history I have, you’re welcome to.”

“Thank you. I might.”

As it turned out, she didn’t have to wait to go see the memorial. After she’d returned to the kitchen, Aunt Margie came in and asked if she could run an errand for her, up to the Station.

“It’s a special order, and I want to make sure it goes out today, and Zette’s already come and gone,” Aunt Margie said, waving her hands distractedly. “Mal said he didn’t have any techs able to come down and get it – are you busy?”

“Not at all,” Molly said. “Let me grab my keys and Schrodinger, and I’ll be happy to run it up for you, Aunt Margie.”

Ten minutes later, she and Schrodinger were in her car, with a large package in the back seat, heading for the Gate Station. It was actually sort of cold, but clear, and Molly hoped that meant the weird weather might be breaking soon. So, why are you so eager to go to the Station? Schrodinger asked, looking sideways at her. This is more than just seeing Drew or helping Aunt Margie.

“You know me too well,” Molly told him, and filled him in on what Father Christopher had told her about the memorial. “So I want to see it myself,” she finished, as they pulled off the main road onto the long driveway up to the mansion that housed the Carter’s Cove Land Gate Station. “There might be something there that might help.”

And there might not be, Schrodinger said. He looked back out the window. We need snow.

“I agree,” Molly said. Normally, the rolling lawns that led up to the Gate Station were alive with snow sculptures and lights. Mal, the Station Manager, dreamed up a new theme every year, and it was eagerly anticipated by most of the Cove (the poor techs who had to actually put the things together were not as eager, usually). This year, because there was no snow on the ground, she’d figured that he wouldn’t really decorate. As they went further up the driveway and twilight started to creep over the horizon, though, she realized she was wrong.

He’d gone with light instead. In the gathering darkness, lights started to wink on, in various shapes and hues. They passed a waterfall of icicles, the lights moving sinuous as a stream over dark-green boulders. After that, an angel stood in the middle of a forest, holding a wreath of gold and silver in her hands. There were Christmas trees, of course, and a set of moving reindeer that made Schrodinger’s eyes light up. But it just wasn’t the same without the snow.

Molly pulled the car into the parking lot, turned the car off, got out and pulled out Aunt Margie’s package from the back seat. “Let’s bring this in and give it to Heidi,” she told Schrodinger, who had hopped out of the car and was waiting for her. “Then we can find out where the memorial is.”

And get a flashlight, maybe? he suggested. Do you have one in the car?

“I think so?” Molly said, frowning. “If not, I should get one.” She opened the trunk and grinned. “Looks like Drew set me up,” she said, pulling a large steel flashlight from a kit she found there. “So if we ever get caught in the snow, or something, we have a kit.”

He takes good care of us, Schrodinger agreed. Molly tucked the flashlight into her coat pocket, picked the box up again, and shut the trunk.

Heidi and Porter were sitting in a pool of golden light in the lobby of the mansion, Heidi looking at her computer and writing notes into a large ledger, Porter drowsing with a large catnip mouse between his grey paws on a pillow next to the desk. The receptionist looked up as the door opened, and a smile lit up her face.

“Molly! Schrodinger! How nice to see you!”

Porter woke up at that, blinking at them with green-gold eyes that were slightly glazed. He burbled a hello that was part meow, part purr, but didn’t move from his pillow.

“Hi Heidi! Hi Porter!” Molly paused at the pillow and stroked the grey cat’s head, then put the box on Heidi’s desk. “Have we missed the afternoon delivery run yet?”

“Nope, they’re running late, so I can definitely put that on for you.” Heidi took the box, squinted at the label, and made another note in her ledger. “Let me go and put this on the carriage now, just to make sure. From the store, right? No food?”

“No food,” Molly said. “Just books.”

Heidi made one last note and disappeared through a door behind the desk, taking the box out to where the evening courier was undoubtedly chomping at the bit to get moving. Molly waited until she came back and said, “Heidi, do you know where the memorial dedicated to Jack Frost and Prince Caliban is located?”

Heidi looked startled. “The what?”

“Father Christopher said there was a memorial at the back of the Station that was dedicated to the spirits who protected the Cove during the battles at the beginning,” Molly said. “I’d like to see it.”

The receptionist frowned. “I’m not aware of a memorial, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. Mal can probably tell you where it is.”

“Is he in and able to be bothered?”

“By you? Of course.” Heidi waved her and Schrodinger (who had finished touching noses with Porter and now looked a bit stoned himself, courtesy of the catnip mouse) through the main door into the hallway that led deeper into the mansion. “He’s in his office.”

Mal’s office was located deep within the bowels of the Gate Station, on the other side of the Gate room itself. As always, it was cluttered to the point of being a fire hazard with papers and other things that she didn’t really have names for, and she wondered how Mal could work like that. He was sunk down low in the leather chair behind his desk, almost not visible through the haze of smoke from his ever-present cigarette that was clamped in his teeth. “Who’s there?”

“Molly and Schrodinger,” she replied, knowing perfectly well that Heidi had called him as soon as they’d left the lobby. Mal hated surprises.

“Oh, yes, come in! Heidi said you were asking about the old memorial?” He looked out at her, frowning. “Why?”

“I’m curious,” she said truthfully. “Father Christopher was telling me about it earlier and I’d like to see it.”

He looked suspiciously at her. “I hear you’ve had some interesting visitors lately.”

“I always have interesting visitors,” Molly said.

“Banished visitors?” Mal asked.

“The banishment specifically states they can’t be here when the Snow Queen is,” Molly told him. “I’m doing nothing wrong.”

Mal leaned back in his chair, looking at her and Schrodinger, absently tapping the long ash on his cigarette into an overflowing ash tray. “Semantics, and you know it. If she knew, she’d be very unhappy with you.”

“Maybe, but she doesn’t control my movements,” Molly said. “And I’m doing it to help her.”

“Are you, now.” Mal continued to look at them, obviously weighing options. “Well, in the end, it’s none of my business, really. The memorial is out back – if you go through the Gate Room and out the back door, then take the path out towards the hillside. It’s about five hundred yards along the path.” He finally stubbed out the cigarette, and then shook another one out of the pack he pulled from his shirt pocket. “Do you have a flashlight?”

She pulled it from her pocket and waved it at him.

“Good. You’ll need it. There’s no lights that way.”

“Thanks, Mal.” Molly turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.

“Molly, do you think you can fix this?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, turning back around.

Mal sighed. “I’m not stupid, Molly. I know who Pavel brought in on that scow of his. I know that Drew was looking at the old records. And now you’re looking at the old Cove Memorial. You can’t tell me that the weather issues aren’t connected to it. And if the weather doesn’t break soon, we’re going to be in trouble.” He pointed the new cigarette at her. “Can you fix it?”

“I’m going to give it my best shot,” she said finally, and he nodded.

“That’s all we can ask. Good luck.”

Steve gave them a wave as they cut through the Gate room towards the back door, but he was busy doing something that apparently took most of his attention. Molly slipped outside and paused to turn her flashlight on. Mal hadn’t been kidding; in the minutes that had passed since they’d come into the Station, twilight had fallen into darkness, and the bulk of the mansion blocked the lights from the front. It was dark in front of her, and she could barely see Schrodinger’s pale shape as he set off down the path.

“Don’t go too far ahead of me, please,” she called quietly, setting her feet on the gravel path, thankful for the lack of snow. If the memorial was as neglected as it seemed, then if it had snowed, the path might have been snowed over.

I won’t, the CrossCat promised, coming back over to her. It smells wet.

“Rain will do that,” Molly said, looking up at the sky. Stars winked overhead, but there was a smudge on the horizon that might be clouds. It should be snow clouds, but she bet it was more rain. Her flashlight lit the path and she set off cautiously.

The memorial was not quite what she’d been expecting. The official memorial in the Cove’s center was full of statues of Captain Carter and various members of his crew, and the Snow Queen, of course. This memorial was smaller, and less ostentatious: just four large pillars around a small square box of granite. Each pillar had a symbol carved into it: a snowflake, which Molly knew was for the Snow Queen; a lightning bolt; a fireball, which must be for Caliban; and a raindrop. “Four,” she said to Schrodinger. “Why hasn’t anyone mentioned who the fourth person is?”

That’s really weird, he agreed. A water spirit?

“Maybe.” Molly ran her fingers over each symbol, and could just barely feel cold underneath the lightning bolt and the snowflake, warmth under the fireball and the raindrop. “Drew didn’t mention that anyone else was banished, though.”

Maybe they weren’t. Schrodinger had gone over to the square box; Molly joined him, playing her light over the simple inscription.

“We give thanks for those who have left a piece of their souls in this Cove,” she read out loud. “Jack Frost; Jade Winterborn; Caliban Summerstorm; Herse. Without them, we would not be here.” She frowned. “Who’s Herse? I’ve never heard that name before.”

Nor I, Schrodinger said. She wasn’t mentioned in the Librarian’s book.

“No.” Molly pulled out her cell phone and took a picture of the inscription. “I think it’s time for us to head out, Schrodinger.”

Did you find any answers? he asked her, as they walked back towards the Gate Station.

“I don’t know,” Molly said. “We definitely found more questions, though.”

Originally published at The words of Valerie Griswold-Ford. You can comment here or there.