Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web (The Complete Epic Fantasy) Read online

  “Sure you don’t want me to walk you to your front gate, Adelaide?” he asked. “It’s especially dark tonight.”

  “Nonsense. I may be an old woman, but I’m still an able one.” She gently squeezed his arm. “Now go get some sleep and I’ll see you soon.”

  “Goodnight,” Nicholas said. He watched her walk through a patch of scraggly grass toward River Road before heading inside.

  Adelaide crossed the dirt road and swung open a low wooden gate in front of her house. She walked past a tall hedge before climbing up the front porch steps. A cool breeze whistled over the tops of the dried grass stalks dotting the lonely countryside. She hung the oil lamp on a small hook and sat down on a rocking chair and stared into the inky darkness. With thoughts of Nicholas swimming in her head, she wondered if sleep would find her tonight. She folded her arms and rocked back and forth and soon nodded off.

  Over an hour later, Adelaide awakened with a start when she heard a noise, or thought she did–a whisper of voices across the road near the storage shed behind Nicholas’ cottage. She stood and extinguished the oil lamp, straining her eyes and ears into the night though hearing nothing but the rustle of hedge leaves. She chided herself for imagining things, then grabbed the cooling lamp from its hook and went inside.

  Nicholas raced to the home of Oscar and Amanda Stewart after work the next evening, guessing that Katherine Durant would be there. He knew that if he didn’t ask her to the dance soon, he might be too late, if he wasn’t already. He cut across their side lawn and scurried through a grove of white birch trees, noting through the branches the crescent Fox Moon hanging low in the west. The kitchen windows in back of the stone estate glowed with warm yellow light. People dressed in white cooking smocks were visible through the panes, bustling about the kitchen preparing for an annual party the Stewarts held on the first night of the Harvest Festival.

  Nicholas noted that the kitchen door had been left ajar to let some of the heat escape. He edged up close and peeked inside. Clamoring voices competed with the clattering of kettles and the chopping of knives on butcher blocks. Bundles of pungent herbs hung from nails in the rafters. A blazing pyramid of oak wood crackled in a stone fireplace against the far wall. Katherine Durant stood at one of the island counters in the middle of the room kneading bread dough, her long brown hair hidden underneath a smock. She smiled upon seeing Nicholas and beckoned him to step inside, wiping away a dab of flour on her cheek. Katherine, almost two years younger than Nicholas, was employed part-time on the house staff for Amanda Stewart and was also the niece of Mayor Otto Nibbs.

  “You’re two days early for the party, Nicholas. Or are you here to lend a hand?” she playfully asked. “I’m not sure if Oscar is home at the moment, but I can ask someone to check.”

  “Not necessary,” he replied. “I’m not here on mill business. And I think my kitchen services would be more hindrance than help if I lent a hand, Katherine. I’ll fix you dinner sometime and prove it,” he said with a grin. “What are you making?”

  “Apple-walnut bread. Mrs. Stewart wants ten loaves baked for the party. That’s in addition to the ten loaves of blackberry-carrot bread that I’ll bake tomorrow. She does like to feed her guests.”

  Even while covered in flour in a steamy kitchen, and up to her wrists in bread dough, Nicholas thought Katherine looked as pretty as ever. They had been acquaintances for a time as Nicholas had talked to her here on occasion when delivering paperwork from the gristmill on Ned Adams’ behalf.

  “So what brings you here tonight?” Katherine asked as she dumped out some freshly diced apples and chopped walnuts from a wooden bowl and worked them into the bread dough with her slender fingers. She was one of several people whom the Stewarts employed, though she felt less like a servant and more of a family member since her mother and Amanda Stewart were close friends.

  Nicholas’ heart beat rapidly as he worked up his nerve. “Well, I was wondering if you might be–”

  “Nicholas Raven!” A stern voice shot across the room like a crack of thunder. Katherine and Nicholas turned to see Amanda Stewart step into the kitchen through the archway of an adjoining hall. The tall, sturdy woman looked at Nicholas with a questioning eye. “You’re not distracting my prize bread baker, are you?”

  “I wouldn’t want to be accused of that, Mrs. Stewart,” Nicholas said with a hint of mirth.

  “Good. And as long as you’re here, I wish to direct you and your two strong arms downstairs. Lewis needs assistance carrying some blocks of ice up from the cellar. The ice boxes in the pantry need replenishing. The bottoms are all cleaned out, ready to fill.”

  “I’ll be happy to help, ma’am.”

  “Thank you.” Amanda offered a faint smile before raising the wick in an oil lamp attached to the wall near the archway. She then proceeded to inspect the work of her staff.

  Nicholas glanced at Katherine, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. “Say, before I’m banished to the ice cellar, I was just wondering if you had plans to, uh…” He stared briefly at the floor and looked up. “Would you be interested in going to the pavilion dance with me on the last night of the Festival? That is, unless Lewis or somebody else has already invited you.”

  “He hasn’t–yet. And that would be wonderful,” she replied. “I’d love to go!”

  Nicholas grinned, feeling more at ease. “That was easy. I think we’ll have a good time there.”

  Katherine shaped the bread dough into a neatly rounded pile before slicing it into four equal parts to form into loaves. She stopped working and looked up at Nicholas with her rich brown eyes. “I do want to go with you, though I’m ashamed to say that I’ve been avoiding Lewis of late. I think he wanted to ask me.” Lewis Ames was a gangly youth of seventeen, sporting a mop of black hair in a perpetually tangled mess. Katherine thought his clothes always looked ill-fitting on his lanky frame. “I believe he has a terrible crush on me, Nicholas, but I don’t want to break his heart.”

  “That’s sweet of you, Katherine, but I don’t think a no from you will crush him,” he said, not quite believing his own words.

  “Well, now that I have plans, I can stop avoiding him,” she said. “In the meantime, I’ve heard some news concerning you, Nicholas. Word is about the streets that you’re planning to join up with the King’s Guard in Morrenwood.”

  “How’d you find out already?”

  “You didn’t expect to keep a secret in this village, did you?”

  “I suppose not, but I did plan to let others know in time.”

  “Well, when you take me to the dance, I’ll expect a full account of your plans.” Katherine tapped a finger to his chest. “I want to hear what kind of hot water you plan to get yourself into.”

  Amanda again called to Nicholas from near the fireplace. “When I asked you to assist Lewis, Mr. Raven, I did mean today.” She gently touched her silvery hair. “Before all my food spoils in this wilting heat, if you would.”

  “I’m on my way, Mrs. Stewart.” He smiled at Katherine and whispered to her. “I’ll explain everything later. I promise.”

  “You’d better,” she said as Nicholas hurried into the pantry and down the cellar steps.

  Nicholas left Amanda Stewart’s home through the front door half an hour later. Two oil burning lampposts marking the entrance to the estate blazed warmly in the waning light. He made his way down the tree-lined street to River Road. Dusky twilight painted objects in gray shades as a thin breeze rustled leaves on the trees. Nicholas barely recognized the figure walking up the road toward him until they were only steps apart.

  “Well if it isn’t Ned Adams’ right-hand man! What is our boss gonna do without you keeping the books for him all neat and proper?” Dooley Kramer offered a crooked smile, letting a white puff of breath escape that smelled distinctly of ale.

  “Just coming back from the Iron Kettle, Dooley?”

  “Getting an early start on celebrating the Festival, Nicholas.” Dooley raised a bony index finger. “
Just downed a quick one, is all.”

  Dooley Kramer worked as a laborer in the gristmill and was a dozen years older than Nicholas. His weathered coat smelled of pipe smoke and his eyes were fixed dark and glassy in his thin, triangular head. Uncombed dirty blond hair grew down to his shoulders, and two day’s growth of beard covered his face.

  “I just learned at the Iron Kettle that you’re leaving these parts, Nicholas. Is that true news I’m hearing?”

  “If your friends at the tavern are saying so, then it must be,” he replied with a roll of his eyes. “Have they picked out my replacement at the mill?”

  Dooley slapped him good-naturedly on the arm. “Those boys aren’t that sharp! But who knows, maybe Ned will see it in his heart to promote me to bookkeeper. I’m good at figuring numbers in addition to all the grub work he pays me for.”

  “That’d be a step up for sure,” Nicholas said, knowing very well that Dooley would be the last person chosen to replace him.

  “It would be a step up for a fellow like me. But I know my place in the world, so no sense in getting my hopes up.” Dooley clasped his hands on Nicholas’s shoulders and shook him. “Ahh! But you are going places, boy! Off to fight with the King’s soldiers. Good for you!” He fumbled with Nicholas’s collar in an attempt to straighten it, then grabbed onto the ends of his open jacket. He wrapped a finger around one of Nicholas’ middle buttons and pulled the material taut. “Make sure to always look your best when those higher-ups inspect you. Yes, sir, that’s some good advice. Say, exactly when are you leaving Kanesbury?”

  “Not right away,” Nicholas said, taking a step back, confident that Dooley had had more than one mug of ale at the Iron Kettle.

  “We’ll sure miss you when the time comes.”

  “I appreciate that. But I do have to get going, Dooley. There’s still work to be done at home. Good talking to you.”

  “Understood.” Dooley scratched his head and offered a handshake. “See you on the job in the morning then, Nicholas.”

  “Bright and early,” he said with an uneasy smile. “Goodnight, Dooley.”

  “And goodnight to you, sir!” he replied as Nicholas continued walking down the road into the gloomy twilight. Dooley Kramer kept a watchful eye on him until Nicholas turned left around the corner and disappeared onto River Road.

  Dooley looked around, alone on the silent street. The light from the lampposts on the Stewarts’ property glowed warmly in the distance through the wavering tree branches. He rubbed his chin and squatted down, running his hand over the cold dirt ground. He grunted with satisfaction when his fingers touched a small round object, grasping it instantly like a spider catching a fly. He stood and examined the button he had secretly pulled off of Nicholas’s jacket, grinning as he pocketed his catch.

  Adelaide sat on her front porch in the evening shadows as Nicholas walked by a short time later. She rocked in her chair with a heavy shawl draped over her shoulders, observing the starry sky. Nicholas walked through her front gate and stood at the bottom step.

  “Maynard is right,” she said matter-of-factly. “You have to find your own life, no matter how much it upsets this old lady.”

  Nicholas smiled. “You’re not that old, Adelaide.”

  “You are sweet.” She slowly got to her feet. “Have to check on my kettle of soup. Had supper yet?”

  “I had a bite when I visited Katherine at the Stewarts’ home. Not hungry now.”

  “Well I am, so I’ll politely excuse myself, Nicholas. Say hello to Maynard for me. I’m sure I’ll see you both during the Festival.”

  “No doubt. Good night, Adelaide,” he said as he passed through the gate.

  “Good night, dear,” she replied, retreating indoors to eat a supper of bread and soup by the light of a single candle. In spite of her earlier words, she still was deeply troubled that Nicholas planned to leave the village, possibly walking into unimaginable peril. Several hours later in the deep of night, Adelaide once again sat in her rocking chair on the front porch to clear her troubled mind. A lazy chorus of crickets played in the fields and a haunting breeze glided down the road, disturbing the dried grass and weeds.

  She again heard voices somewhere in the blackness of the field across the road. She sat up and remained still, noting distinct whispers and a flicker of light near the shed behind Nicholas’ cottage. She wondered if Nicholas or Maynard might be out, but the hour was so late. And since the farmhouse and the cottage windows were as black as pitch, she assumed both men were probably asleep by now. When Adelaide noticed the flicker of light a second time, she hurried inside to light an oil lamp, threw on a coat and went back outdoors, walking across River Road into the grass.

  As she neared the shed, Adelaide could distinguish two separate voices within. Yellow light outlined the door frame of the low windowless building. Adelaide cautiously stepped closer to the entrance, pausing every few seconds to listen. There was movement inside, but little talking now. She couldn’t stand the suspense any longer and placed a hand on the knob, swinging the door open.

  Shadows leaped on the walls as she held up the lamp in the cramped, dimly lit room. A man setting down a sack of flour spun around and faced Adelaide, his eyes wide like saucers.

  “Dooley Kramer!” she whispered. “What are you doing here?” An oil lamp rested on the ground near his feet.

  “Well, I’m...” He swallowed hard and looked to one corner of the shed.

  Adelaide glanced in that direction as well, the lamp casting a sickly glow over a few bales of hay. Standing there was a tall man in a long leather coat, his stern face glaring at Dooley.

  “Is that you, Zachary Farnsworth?” She shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why are you both here? I’d better wake Nicholas.”

  “Don’t do that!” Farnsworth warned in a gruff whisper.

  Adelaide took a step backward when she caught a glimpse of a steel blade that he slowly removed from his coat pocket. “Oh dear...” She saw Dooley glance at Farnsworth for silent advice, watching as both their faces tightened in sinister resolve. She accidentally dropped her oil lamp as she ran out of the shed and across the black grassy field toward her house, too terrified to scream. The pounding in her head drowned out the sound of heavy footfalls swiftly closing in.

  CHAPTER 2

  A Trap is Sprung

  The Harvest Festival began two days later. Throughout the morning and early afternoon, people milled about in the streets and yards of Kanesbury, attending small parties and luncheons to kick off the three-day event. Residents from farms and small communities outside the village slowly trickled in during the day. By mid-afternoon, wandering musicians, magicians and acrobats had arrived to display their talents. Colorfully costumed stilt-walkers strolled through the streets like nimble giants pulled out of some fantastic dream. Musicians deftly played their fiddles, flutes and hand drums on street corners and under the park pavilion, drawing those who gathered to watch and listen into spontaneous dance. And up and down the busiest streets, magicians made stones and fruit and even a cawing crow disappear before applauding onlookers.

  As twilight settled in under clear, crisp skies, one by one the oil lampposts in town were lit, casting a warm flickering glow over smiling faces and bony tree branches. But only when the festival torches planted around the village had been ignited did the celebration officially begin. Cheers and hollers echoed in the autumn air as the torches cast off colorful light and engulfing warmth, assuring all that somehow the brief days and long nights that lay in the winter months ahead would not be so bad.

  Nicholas stepped out of his front door shortly after sunset on his way to meet some friends at the Water Barrel Inn. A brilliant crescent Fox Moon hung high in the west. As he walked past the farmhouse, Maynard stepped out onto the porch and called to him.

  “Don’t mean to keep you from your fun, Nicholas, but have you seen Adelaide today?” Maynard gripped the railing. “I had promised to walk over to the park with her this evening, but I haven�
�t seen her today or yesterday. She’s not in her house either.”

  Nicholas shrugged. “I last talked to her two nights ago. Maybe she’s helping the other ladies set up food tables at the pavilion.”

  “Or Amanda Stewart is talking her ear off someplace.”

  “Most likely,” Nicholas said, anxious to get going.

  “Well, I’m sure I’ll find her. You go and have a good time.”

  “Okay, Maynard. If I run into Adelaide, I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.”

  “Thanks,” he said, waving him on his way.

  Nicholas hurried down the road into the village, feeling alive and lighthearted. The brisk air and sweet smell of wood smoke filled him with an energy that made him believe he could conquer any obstacle that life threw in his path. After a dizzying week of work at the gristmill, he was especially eager to unwind at the inn with friends over a game of triple dice and some ale. With any luck, he hoped to run into Katherine at the Stewarts’ party later on and spend some time with her, too.

  Ned Adams, Nicholas’ employer at the gristmill, swam frantically through the crowded streets with Constable Clay Brindle at his side. Ned was a thin man with thinning hair. His hands gesticulated wildly as he explained his predicament to the constable.

  “It was Dooley Kramer who told me, Clay. Dooley Kramer, if you can believe that!” Ned tried to keep pace with Constable Brindle who walked at a furious clip despite having two stout legs that were forced to carry a paunchy upper body. “I never knew Dooley to be such a conscientious worker.”

  Clay Brindle carried a torch in one hand. He removed a handkerchief from his coat pocket with the other and patted away beads of sweat dotting his forehead. “Now just take a breath, Ned, and settle down. Tell me the facts again–slowly this time.”

  “All right, Clay. As I stated earlier, Dooley came to me and said he’d been walking along the river like he does most nights. When he passed the gristmill, he thought one of the side doors was slightly ajar and he examined it. Sure enough, the door was open. The wood was splintered around the lock as if somebody broke into the place.”