The Shadow of the Bear: A Fairy Tale Retold (25 page)

“C’mon, Blanche, let’s go with them.” Eileen took Blanche’s arm. Rob threw the back door open, Lisa grabbed Blanche’s other arm, and the two girls pushed and pulled her into the car. Almost before Blanche realized what had happened, they were in the traffic and accelerating down the main road.

Mr. Freet apparently walked a good deal, because he didn’t slacken his pace for at least ten blocks. By that time, Rose was winded, but she didn’t dare stop. She kept on, making certain she maintained a safe distance between him and herself. Goodness, in this blue and purple outfit, she would stand out a mile if he turned around toward her.

The neighborhoods they were passing were getting more and more upscale, which was some comfort. She supposed they were getting near his house.

The house. The house of a dwarf. What would it be like to enter the house of a dwarf?

Her quarry rounded a corner, and remembering how they had lost Bear this way before, she hurtled after him. Luckily, she had the sense to pause at the corner and look casually around it. Mr. Freet had climbed the steps of a tall old brownstone and was unlocking the door. Even as Rose watched, he disappeared inside.

She felt her adrenaline begin to pump in earnest now. What should she do? At last, crossing herself and murmuring a prayer, she walked slowly down the street, casting nonchalant glances at the houses on either side. Passing Mr. Freet’s house, she noted that all the curtains were drawn and that there were bars over all the windows. An alley ran down one side of the house, and she could see basement windows, barred as well.

Uncertain of what to do now, Rose went stealthily into the alleyway, edged around the trash cans and recycling bins standing there, and looked at the windows. The first floor windows were too high for her to see into, and besides, blinds covered them. At her feet, the basement windows were curtained in black cloth. She heard a noise coming from the basement. Quickly she knelt down and listened at the window. Someone was in the basement, talking, but the voice was too muffled to make out.

Remembering a trick she had read about prisoners using, she went to the recycling bin and selected a tin can that seemed mostly clean. Then she huddled by the window, noiselessly set the can’s closed end against the glass, and put her ear to the other end. The can smelled strongly of seafood, but at least it magnified the echoes so she could begin to make out more sounds.

Someone was speaking in a low, harsh voice. None of the words were clear, but Rose thought she caught “useless,” “priest” and “easily.” Then, a moment later, the words “Speak up!” There was the sound of a sharp thud, as though someone had hit a sack of grain with a stick. To her horror, Rose heard a response—a dull, inarticulate moan.

It sounded as though Mr. Freet was beating someone. Yes, that must be it. Rose heard his voice begin again, more insistently, angrily. Then, there was silence. More blows resounded through the can, and Rose heard again the indistinct, agonized groans beneath each one. Even though they were almost inaudible, each one resonated achingly in Rose’s ear.

“So, what were you talking about?” Rob lounged back in his seat, looking back at the three girls over his tanned arm. “Girl stuff?”

“Blanche has been telling us about her boyfriend, right, Blanche?” Eileen prodded her. Blanche’s heart was beating quickly, and she could find no words to say. Was she being kidnapped? How did one behave when one was kidnapped? She remembered too clearly what had happened to Rose after the prom.

“Yeah, I’m interested in this guy, too,” Rob said, lighting up a cigarette. He smiled at Blanche. “You guys dating?”

“What’s going on?” Blanche asked, finding her voice suddenly in a burst of panic. “I want you to drop me off right now.”

 Rob toyed with his cigarette. “Calm down. I don’t think we can do that just yet.”

“What do you mean, you can’t? What’s going on?” she asked.

Rob leaned forward, an earnest look on his face. “Well, it’s very simple, Blanche. There’s this guy—I don’t know his name—who is paying cash for any information about an Arthur Denniston who calls himself Bear. The guy wants to get him a message or something. Now, we haven’t been able to find Bear, but we all know that you know him. So, we just want you to tell us where he is.”

“But I don’t know where he is,” Blanche insisted. They had to let her go—they
would
let her go, wouldn’t they?

Rob shrugged. “We’re perfectly willing to split the cash with you. It’s a lot of money—and it’s nothing illegal.”

Would it help if she pretended to cooperate? “What’s this message you’re supposed to give Bear?” Blanche asked thickly.

“Well, now, I don’t know if I should tell you that unless you’re willing to tell me where I can find Bear. I sort of have an interest in this deal, myself, you know.” Rob smirked.

What could she tell him and get off safely? If she told them anything, how much would she be harming Bear?

“Why does this guy want to know about Bear?” she asked, trying to think.

Rob shrugged. “I really don’t know, but I doubt it’s anything bad. You don’t need to be afraid you’re betraying him or anything.” He waved his cigarette in the air, then tossed it out the window.

“Now, really, Blanche, can’t we work out some sort of deal?” He took off his sunglasses and looked at her with serious blue eyes, their black lashes and dark brows a compelling contrast. He had never looked so handsome and earnest before to Blanche.

Thoughts flitted across her mind like butterflies. The deeper reality. What was
really
going on here?

Finally she said, “You’re an evil prince.”

“What?” Rob gaped at her incredulously.

“You’re an evil prince,” Blanche said, shaking her hair back from her face. “And I’m not going to tell you anything.”

Everyone in the car laughed at her. Rob’s good looking face hardened into an unpleasant mask. “You’re a real weirdo, you know that, Blanche?”

“She’s always been weird,” Lisa said contemptuously. Eileen was coughing and laughing at the same time.

For some reason, their jeers no longer bothered Blanche. She realized that she had ceased to care what they thought of her.

Rob kept staring out of the front of the car. Finally, he turned around and said to Blanche in a warning tone, “Look, Brier, we’ll give you one more chance to come in with us on this deal. Otherwise, things aren’t going to be so nice.”

She already knew that, but there was nothing else she could do. When she merely gazed back at him, he cursed and turned around. “Okay,” he said to the driver, Tom. “Let’s go meet the guy.”

“What about her?” Eileen said.

Rob leaned back and surveyed Blanche with a shrewd smile. “We’ll just take her with us,” he said. “Maybe he can make her talk.”

Rose hunched down closer to the ground, continuing her secret eavesdropping. After an unbearable length of time, the beating stopped and there was silence for a while. Then the low menacing voice said something about “ways of finding out.” There was the sound of feet pounding up steps, getting softer and softer. After that, there was silence.

 The front door of the house banged open, and Rose started, caught herself, and froze. She heard someone come down the steps and caught a glimpse of Mr. Freet passing by the alleyway, a hard, merciless look on his face.

Breathing softly, she crept out of the alley and peered down the street after Mr. Freet. He turned the corner and vanished.

She waited only a moment before she went to see if there was a door in the brick wall surrounding the back yard of the house. There was a high, ornate iron gate, but of course, it was locked. Inside the gate, she could see a small garden. Feeling fey, reckless, but strangely calm, she narrowed her eyes and gauged the height of the wall. It wasn’t any higher than the wire fence around the town tennis court she had occasionally shinnied over back at their former home in New Jersey.

Why am I doing this?
she thought fleetingly as she hiked up her skirt, and put a foot in a small opening in the iron scrollwork. She didn’t answer the question, because, being Rose, she was comfortable with letting those questions be. With practiced skill, she grasped the side of the doorpost, and pulled herself up onto the wall.

After a few unsuccessful tries, she got a leg over the brick wall and scrambled down inside the garden, landing in a patch of thyme.   As she got to her feet, she was startled to see a grotesque statue looking directly at her.  In the center of the cultivated little garden, an apparent mixture of English and Oriental influences, there stood a little pedestal, where a speckled, many-headed creature crouched. Its leonine heads glowered in every direction, and one was facing her, as though it had expected an intruder to appear in exactly that spot.

Spooked, she made her way towards the back door, edging around its pillar.  As she passed it, she couldn’t help taking a closer look at the monstrosity, which was apparently an original. It was made of oxidized metal, probably bronze, which had turned greenish-brown in the City weather. It had a round speckled body with hairy thick-clawed feet, and each of its seven heads sprouted twisted horns. The horns were strange – they appeared to be decorated with carved runes and bumps.  The expressions on the blotched faces were varied, but uniformly malicious.

Well, it certainly was an interesting garden focal point
.  Shivering, she ran up the steps to the back entrance, hoping without much optimism that it was open. There was no knob on the door. Instead, a green light off to one side glowed balefully over a number code pad. It was one of those new computerized security locks.

Facing this technological dragon’s eye, she paused, deliberating, cueing her own eyes to green as she did so. So there was a code—a riddle from the dragon. Very well. She licked her lips.

For a moment she floundered in the face of thousands of possible mathematical combinations. But, regaining her equilibrium, she forced herself to try to remember the larger picture. What sort of code might Mr. Freet use for his lair?

She was hesitant to try random numbers, in case it set off some sort of alarm.  “Bother,” she said at last.  Without divine inspiration, how could she possibly figure this riddle out?

Her eyes strayed around the garden, over the various strange ornaments, and inevitably she found herself trading stares with that horrible beast in the center of the garden.  It looked vaguely familiar, like some sort of mythic animal she had once read about …

Wait a minute!
Taking a deep breath, she struck out on a sudden idea. Her finger pushed the keypad three times—six, six, six.  There was a brief click and the door swung open. Rose stared in astonishment, momentarily forgetting her crusade. The number of the beast…She certainly hoped Mr. Freet had chosen that number as a joke, but if not…what was she getting herself into?

Chapter 17