The Riddles of Epsilon (11 page)

MY DIARY—BEDTIME

So I didn't get to unlock the third box—not just then. Right now, I feel like I'll never go back to that cottage again. I mean, there is scared and there is
terrified
. Epsilon appearing like that almost made my heart stop. I want this to end now—whatever this stupid quest is. I never asked for it anyway, didn't want anything like this to happen to me. Why me?

“Because of your mother,”
Epsilon said.

And that's another thing. His thoughts. Things he's said to me in the chat room. They keep intruding, they keep sliding in and out of my head. Like he's gotten inside my head somehow and reminds me of things there. Prods me. Prods me into a direction I'm not sure I want to go.

Earlier, when I got back to my attic room, I still couldn't stop shaking. I kept thinking of the bucket. The bucket that started all this.

The Epsilon symbol and his name had been there on the
base, as clear as day—until Dr. Parker picked up the bucket and read them there. He'd gone very still and intent—like he recognized the word “Epsilon.” So what has the doctor got to do with all this? And Ely—who is Ely, anyway? I mean, what does he do on the island? Were they both really there at the tower that night? If so, why? They seemed to be summoning something. A rite. A spell. This made me smile. Ridiculous—the very thought of Dr. Parker muttering spells! Get a grip, Jess.

Thinking of the tower made me remember that Epsilon had told me to go to the small library. Tonight. “It's time for maps,” he said. But my nerves are so on edge—I feel I can't take any more. The wind is rising and thunder, very distant, rolls, far out to sea. I don't think I could be in the library, in a growing storm. When Sebastian did that, something came creeping along the corridor outside—something I still don't know about.

I'm not sure I have the guts for this.

Yet . . . if Epsilon can appear to me at the cottage, he could appear to me here. After all, he did appear to Sebastian in this room—he made him spill his inkpot in fright. He's obviously powerful enough to appear when and where he likes. I can't really get away from Epsilon anyway. So I might as well do what he asks. Whether he's good or not, I still have to try to work all this out.

I'll have to find my flashlight—I'm not risking the storm causing a blackout! I'd die of fright. I'll take this box file,
too, so I can put anything I find straight into it.

Poor Sebastian. I know just how he felt. He needed a word to make himself feel brave. “Agapetos,” he used.

Me? No way am I going to utter any word around here until I'm sure what that word means. The workers of the Dark Ones are watching me, Epsilon said. If they can see me, presumably they can hear me, too. Plus, so far Epsilon is the scariest thing of all—so why should I trust him? And so on, round and round and round. It's all one big circle.

I'm putting it off. Come on, Jess! Go to the small library. Now.

 

When in doubt, eat chocolate. That's what makes
me
brave.

So I've brought loads with me. Four bars, in fact. And two bags of chips, a Coke, a pack of cookies, and two packs of mints! Could have done with a backpack to carry it all, what with my files and everything.

Mom and Dad were in bed hours ago. It all feels secret and creepy, like being some kind of spy. The room isn't very different from when Seb was here, which makes it all worse somehow.

I remember coming in here with Mom when we first arrived. She loved it. She just kept spinning on her heel and staring all around. “Why move it all out?” she said at last. “Why change it? These books have been here for years and years. Some of them must be quite valuable.” So she talked
Dad out of stripping the whole room bare to use as his darkroom. They decided on the second scullery downstairs instead—it was cooler, for his photography chemicals; they'd store better.

Come to think of it, that was the first time Mom said something a bit odd in this house. In here, on that very first day. She ran her fingers along the spines of the massive books. She stared up at the tall shelves.

“Poor old house. We're already ripping every room apart,” she said. “This feels like its heart. I think we can leave it its heart, don't you, Richard?”

And oddly enough, Dad agreed.

Now I'm sitting here staring nervously all around, finding things Sebastian found that night, more than a hundred years ago.

Sure enough, over there is the little shelf table he set his candlesticks on. And nearby is the grate. (No cobwebs, though, not after the cleaning Mom gave this place when we arrived. The spiders wouldn't dare!)

The armchair he sat in is here, too—although the crimson-and-gold covering is gone. And, of course, the books—rows and rows of them. Floor to ceiling!

It's a bit stuffy, but I've opened only one of the shutters—it creaked so much, it scared me half to death! And the thought of me doing exactly what Sebastian did, a century
ago, is just too much for me.

So I've laid out all my comfort food on the table (it looks like the snack shop at school) and I've already eaten the chocolate bars. Maybe that's why I feel so sick now.

Mmm . . . and maybe not . . . 

 

Sebastian was right about these books. Great fat things with leather spines, all inlaid with gold. Books on Egyptology. On astrology. On prehistoric art. Foreign books, with titles written in what looks like Hebrew. There are thousands of smaller books, too, many laid on their sides or slanting, willy-nilly.
A Discussion on the Evolution of the World
and
Essays from Portugal, Volume IV
.

At last, very high up—how on earth did he climb up there?—
The Mythology of the Small Islands
and
The Cart ography of the Island of Lume
. Side by side, as if Sebastian had only just put them back.

So I dragged my chair over to climb on, just like he must have done.

I nearly broke my back getting the cartography book down! And I fail to see how he actually
read
it, in candlelight. Even in lamplight (and I've put three on, no fear!) I'm struggling with the small script.

The maps are so old. Such tiny, slanty writing, full of curly bits, and each S is an F!

Wait—I've just remembered Mom's magnifying glass . . . .

LATER

A lot of the cartography book is fascinating, but pretty useless really. Like, page 367:
THE IFLAND OF LUME
, by Mafter Marcuf Siffonf—fketched from fight whilft fitting in a fmall veffel, 1643.

Sorry, Master Marcus-Sissons-who-sketched-from-sight-whilst-sitting-in-a-small-veffel (oops, vessel), but your map is way too old. Plus it bears little resemblance to the actual shape of Lume, so your fmall veffel muft have been failing on an unufually ftormy fea!

But there were two things stuffed in the index pages.

A loose map, hand drawn. And a tatty old letter, tucked just behind it.

The map was marked in one corner—1894.

This was exactly how the island looked when Sebastian lived here. In the very year he was keeping his diary!

I examined the small printed writing and smiled. I wouldn't be surprised if Sebastian drew this map himself. There was a small clue, hidden around the compass rose. The letters for north, south, east, and west were not in English at all. They were in the Lumic code. And the compass rose was
not the usual type of thing at all. It was an Ouroborus.

So I'd found Sebastian's map.

And this is the letter that was hidden in the index of the book of maps.

 

Lume
,
28 July 1894

 

My darling Sebastian
,

I write this in some haste while my headache is gone and my thoughts clear
.
I write it in the event something should befall me
,
so that you may know what to do. Should your papa succeed in having me placed
“
for my own safety
”
in an asylum
,
you will be quite friendless in the world
.
My allowance will be utterly at your disposal
,
but I doubt he would disclose this fact unbidden. However
,
if you write to my firm of London solicitors and enclose this letter
,
the excellent Mr
.
Greenwood will advise you
.
He can be reached at

Messrs. Greenwood, Adamson, and

Greenwood, Esqs
.,

113 Lincoln's Inn, London.

If all things unfold as I suspect they may, your papa will no doubt place you in school as
a boarder
.
If that be the case
,
I beg you to make the best of it
,
my dearest boy
.
Obey your masters and learn hard
,
being especially diligent with your language studies
.
For the speaking of varied languages is the key to escaping all that is dreary in this world
!
The allowance my own dear father left me is enough to enable you to travel when you have completed your studies
.
Indeed
,
I heartily encourage you to do so
,
for there are many wonders abroad on the earth that will remain quite beyond your reach unless—in fact—you reach for them
!

My last will and testament is also lodged with Mr
.
Greenwood
,
who is a fine man
,
greatly to be trusted
.
As you will eventually see
,
it is my wish that this house (being left solely to me by Father
,
and not being in the ownership of your papa
,
whatever he may state to the contrary) remain in this family for your heirs. Dear and attentive boy, this is a good and even a great house, and I ask that you guard it from falling into disrepair
.

If I should leave you suddenly to dwell elsewhere
,
I ask you to have a steady and stout heart and
,
in effect, to wipe me gently from your
day-to-day tasks
.
For it is true indeed that some sickness has come upon me
,
and my mind is much absorbed at times
,
folded up in a world none can see but myself
.

But we may safely state that if this sickness proceeds
,
I shall be so unlike my former self that—darling boy—I shall be lost not only to you but to my old life also
!
Some afflictions of the mind offer much comfort
,
Sebastian
,
as I have witnessed for myself with my own dearest mother
,
who quite happily dwelt to the end in her private dream world
,
oblivious to my own distress
.
Thus
,
what would be the purpose of your mourning my absence
?
No doubt I would be similar
,
quite satisfied with my new life, as I pray that you will learn to become stoic and satisfied with yours
.

I have left you also many diverse trinkets that came to me when my own parents left this mortal world
.
Alas, there is nothing of any great value
,
and indeed
,
what does a small boy want with paste baubles and lockets and hatpins and the like
?!

Yet a fine young man
,
abroad in the world, might return home at some future time, to gain
comfort and rest from the things of his past. In that event
,
I ask you to ever hold them tenderly
,
in cherished memory of her who penned this—

Your most loving
Mama

 

Well. I've found a map, just as Epsilon wanted.

And I've found a letter that made me want to cry.

What else did Epsilon ask me to look for? He said in the cottage,
“Your father is at the lake, taking a photograph you need to see. Your mother is in her studio, drawing something you must find.”

So. I'll go to Mom's studio first.

Then to the darkroom, to see what I can find.

1
A.M.

Mom's studio is creepily different. All those paintbrushes gone, all those photos, and no huge canvas. Just endless bits of paper strewn all around. On almost every one that face. The woman's face, peering out through cloud or thin gauze or something. There must be hundreds of them!

But then I found something else. Two weird sketches in
black and white.

As I picked the first one up, a great wave of weariness rolled over me. Something is happening here, and Mom is now more than involved. Even at a glance, I could see what she'd drawn. I didn't recognize the castle or any of the winding paths, but the place the paths lead to is clear enough.