The Choir Boats by Daniel Rabuzzi Page B

Yount,” she said out loud, hugging herself. Isaak paused,
stretched a golden leg, then returned to the fray.
    No word came of Tom’s whereabouts the following day. Salmius
Nalmius returned to Mincing Lane, Harris and Fletcher came and
went on unspecified errands. Strange men used the dolphin knocker,
entered with messages. Sanford was furious, on Peniel wrestling
with a spirit as Jacob did.
    Barnabas barely spoke except to say to Sally. “I swore to my sister
long ago to protect you and Tom.”
    Sally said, “It’s not your fault, Uncle.” She took out her locket,
handed it to her uncle, who opened it. He looked down at his sister’s
picture, head bowed like the pelican who would pierce its own heart
to guard its young.
    “She loved you then, she loves you now,” said Sally. “And so do I.”
    Barnabas, vest rumpled, one stocking nearly to his ankle, hung
his head. “I hate that . . . man,” the merchant said with such a savage
expression that his niece stepped back. “This is . . . I hate his wicked
vermissage . . . is that a word?”
    “I don’t think so, Uncle, but we all know what you mean.”
    Barnabas snapped the locket shut, handed it back to Sally, and
said, “We’ll go to the ends of the earth if need be, beans and bacon,
we will.”
    “Yes, Uncle, we will.”
    “Chock,” said the parrot.
    A knock followed on the door, so loudly that Sally jumped. Sanford
threw the door open, to find . . . no one — only a box on the doorstep.
Sanford rushed out the door, looking up and down Mincing Lane.
All manner of traffic passed, but nothing out of the ordinary. He
walked back, picked up the box. He turned around and scanned the
street one more time. There! High up on the house across the way
was a small bird-shape, like a wren only not so, with a dull blank
face. It disappeared behind a chimney. Sanford spat and went into
the McDoon house.
    Barnabas looked at the box on the table. “Our troubles began
with a mysterious box . . .” he said, casting a glance at Salmius
Nalmius. This box held a letter and a glass pendant on a fine chain.
The pendant was claret red. Barnabas read the letter, nodded grimly,
handed it to Sanford, who read it aloud.
    Dear Mr. McDoon,
    You disappoint us. You violated the terms of our exchange. Therefore, and
alas, we are obligated to begin the journey without you. We will, of course,
take our guest with us, for his safekeeping. You know where we shall journey.
Our offer still stands, on the same terms, to be consummated at our journey’s
destination. Come as expeditiously as you can. Meet us at the Sign of the Ear
as soon as you are able. (Your new friends can tell you where that is.) We will
await you, though our patience is not unlimited. More there is not to say. By
the time you receive this, we will have departed. Make haste !
    With regrets, but with hope for a successful resolution,
    I remain yours, sir,
    Phlegyas
    Postscript: As an affidavit of our good faith, enclosed is a token that will assure you of our guest’s continued well-being. Carry it with you if you desire to know
how he fares. Your new friends can enlighten you further.
    “Now he’s ‘Phlegyas,’” said Barnabas. “More mockery, I guess. What
does he mean — do you recognize it, Sally?”
    “I don’t know — Virgil, maybe . . . oh, what does it matter?” said
Sally.
    “Where’s the Sign of the Ear?” asked Sanford.
    “In Yount,” said the Purser. “I can show you the way.”
    “What’s this for?” asked Barnabas, holding up the pendant.
    “It is connected to Tom,” said Salmius Nalmius. “It is a kind of
ansible, a device for communicating across long, strange distances.”
    Barnabas jumped out of his chair. “We can talk to Tom with this?”
    Salmius Nalmius shook his head. “No, I am afraid not. It only communicates . . . it lets you know that he is still alive. As long as it holds its colour — see how red it is? — you know that Tom is alive. If
it goes dark . . .”
    Everyone