After they shut and locked the door a soft whimper came from below. A sigh of missed opportunity.
At midnight, they exploded with talk. Nix went down on his hands and knees searching the floorboards for cracks or chinks through which he might locate the Worm, but at that late hour, all he could see was the dark basement and perhaps, he reported, the bare outline of a form that took up most of the space. He whispered “Worm, Worm,” but the thing did not respond. Curious, the little dog sniffed for clues, pawing at the sawdust whenever Nix spied through a hole. The Three Sisters parried the notion that the Devil had been misplaced somehow, while the Old Hag insisted that he was dead, killed by the others lurking in the other rooms. On the whim of the Original. The Queen and Mr. Firkin were engaged in a dialectic over the new rules and restrictions imposed by the Quatre Mains and how best to maintain law and order.
Gathering together the scraps of muslin and sorghum straw, the ball of twine, and scissors the Deux Mains left behind, the Good Fairy sat on the corncrib making puppets. Primitive little marionettes who could dangle from the ends of her twiggy hands. By her side, No?, resplendent with her full head of new hair, played idly with each doll as it was finished. Kay found herself drawn to their game, and the three sat in a triangle pursuing the goal of one puppet to tie to each finger.
Kay watched her friend for signs of disturbance. “I was afraid when they took off your head that they were not going to put it back on.”
No? wiggled the doll back and forth. “I call this one Pinkie because she fits just fine on my littlest finger.”
“And I was afraid about what might happen to that cat when it went to the cellar.”
“Cats have nine lives,” the Good Fairy said. “Perhaps it had one to spare.”
“Your feet,” No? said. “It would be terrible to lose your feet. Or your hands, how would you play with a puppet? No, I guess the worst would be to lose your body. No, I take that back. Your mind! Maybe it is the head after all?”
“They’ve done a good job with your new hair.”
“Do you like it? I feel much better with no more bees. I call this one Tom Thumbkin. He is in love with Pinkie on the other hand. Were you ever in love, Kay?”
“Yes, of course. My husband.”
“Theo.”
“That’s right, Theo. I was in love with Theo. Back in the other world.”
“What other world?”
Leaning in close to Kay’s ear, the Good Fairy whispered, “There are worse things to lose than your heart, poor dear.”
“The real world,” Kay insisted. “The world of the living. Where you come from, the real people, don’t you remember?”
No? looked up with a mad glint in her eyes and showed them a puppet mounted on her middle finger. “This one’s name is too rude to say.”
With a laugh they went back to their craft, making puppets, putting on a show in the wee hours of the night.
21
The dog wanted to follow them out to the car, but she was afraid of the rain. Instead the travelers said their good-byes on the porch, Sal bouncing among the three of them, and Dolores stoic in her chair with Mrs. Mackintosh faithfully stationed behind her. They had made a late start to the expedition, dawdling over their pancakes with maple syrup. All discussion of their mission was put off until the last moments.
“You’ll keep in touch,” Dolores said. “And let me know the minute you find out anything. Call as soon as you get cellular service. It’s miles from nowhere, so I’ll understand.”
“Don’t forget—we’ll be by the phone,” said Mrs. Mackintosh.
Theo promised and kissed his mother-in-law. “You have my word.”
With a disconcerting swiftness, she grabbed his hand in hers and held it close, silently imploring and wishing him success. Mitchell and Egon jogged through the raindrops to the car.
“You know the way?” she asked.
“I have my trusty guides. Listen, if she can be found…”
He looked over his shoulder as they rolled down the driveway, and the tableau had not shifted. The dog wagged her tail, considering whether to chase the car. The women raised their hands, offering a final salute.
They got lost along the way, stopped for lunch, stopped again for directions, and reached the farm in the shank of the afternoon. Rain had given way to a misty drizzle shrouding the red barn in gray. A pair of wet chickens foraged in the grass before a yellow farmhouse. A handmade arrow, inset with the word Museum, pointed to the barn. A ramshackle school bus—Northeast Kingdom Puppet Co. painted on the side—stood in the driveway, but no other vehicles were about, and no lights shone in the windows against the gloom.
“Nobody home,” Mitchell said from behind the wheel.
“Looks abandoned,” Egon said. “Like a graveyard after the last funeral of the day.”
“Knock and it shall be opened,” Theo said.