Tortus Bay

2.26: Goodbye, Mathas Bernard

Henry's stunt on the front page of the first Tortus Bay Examiner proved successful, if measured solely in response rate. If measured by any other metric, it was somewhat less sterling. The people of the village called incessantly—to reminisce about Mathas Bernard, talk about editorials they would like to see in future issues of the paper, and vaguely describe pieces of jewelry that they had once owned and which, according to them, could have been the original property of Emmaline Cass.

Reports of real sightings went up as well, but so clogged was their sole telephone line that those messages were generally relayed to Henry long after the man had left the scene. He was left to play a cold game of cat and mouse, wherein he spent the majority of his time trying to calm over-anxious people while he himself couldn't find a way to relax.

He tried to tell himself that it was going to be okay. Nobody knew how magic worked in the village, least of all him. Maybe there are no rules. What happened last month won't necessarily happen again.

"There is every indication that it will," Teresa said, late one evening. Her daughters had just come back from a trip out to the store, and she was in the process of preparing dinner. "If Emmaline—or whoever is acting on her behalf—is still exerting power over Tortus Bay, it is unlikely to have subsided over the course of thirty days. And its priorities are equally unlikely to have changed."

"How can you know that?"

"There are no rules, Henry. You couldn't be more correct about that. This isn't science, and there's no way to predict exactly what will happen. But there are patterns. There are eddies and currents in the flow of magic—can't you feel it?"

"Yes," he said. "Even if I didn't have a calendar I would still know the festival is tomorrow. I haven't been able to sleep in... a while."

"You'll get used to it. Eventually. I would be happy to show you some breathing exercises that I have found to be helpful." Henry held his head in his hands. Teresa snapped an unholy portion of spaghetti in her hands, dumped it in a pot of well-salted water, and called out to her daughters: "nine minutes!"

"What about Mathas?" he asked.

She leaned against the counter, and frowned. "I haven't been able to find anything more about that. There's nothing in any of the books I've ever read that indicates that anyone has come back like that before. But after what you told me about Clair's tattoo..."

"Yes?"

"I don't know. I never had the inclination before that the Gauthes knew the first thing about magic, but if there's something more there—well, then getting a look at it might help."

Footsteps came raining down the stairs. "What would I need to get some alone time in the Gauthe estate?"

"I'm afraid you're getting the wrong impression," Teresa said. "These things come and go. This is not The End Of All Things, Henry. What you need before tomorrow is sleep. Are you staying for dinner?"

"No, thank you." He stood as the Bramble daughters filed into the kitchen. "Enjoy your night. I'll see you all tomorrow."

She waved a wooden spoon at his retreating back. "Bright and early! If there's going to be trouble, you might as well head into it with a mended shoulder."

***

The problem was that he could not sleep. He wandered through the streets of the village, hoping eventually exhaustion would creep from his legs into his brain, but it did not work. With every step an electricity coursed through him—an excitement that he could never remember experiencing before. It was like the manic anxiety before a disaster, or else it was his body finally reacting to the budding magic of Tortus Bay.