The Peregrines

Chapter 14

"What do you mean, looked into it?" Jake interrupted Emma while speaking.

"All in good time," Myron repeated. "I know it's difficult, but you must be patient. There's too much to tell all at once, and in such a sorry state." He stretched his arm out towards them. "Look. You're shivering," he said.

"Fine then, let's have tea," Jake grumbled.

"Excellent!" said Myron, with a swift motion, he rapped his cane twice on the floor. "PT, come!"

The bear made a friendly grunt, then rose up on its hind legs and waddled over to where Myron was standing. When it finally reached him, the animal gracefully lowered itself and scooped him up, embracing him like a little child. It carefully held him, using one paw to support his back and the other to cradle his legs, ensuring his safety and comfort.

 "I know it's an unconventional way to travel," Myron's voice carried softly from behind PT's shoulder, his words getting lost amidst the tangle of hair, "But I tire easily." Using his cane, he indicated the direction in front of them and uttered. "PT, library!"

On our way to the library, we were making good progress until Myron suddenly halted halfway up the stairs. "PT, stop!" Myron commanded. I halted as soon as the bear did, and I quickly spun around to check on Jake and Emma. They were still rooted to the spot where they had encountered the bear. Myron gave them a friendly wave. "Are you coming?" 

"Sorry," Emma shouted, and they sprinted to catch up.

We followed Myron and his bear as we navigated through the maze. "Is your bear peculiar?" Jake asked.

"Yes, he's a grimbear," said Myron, rubbing PT's shoulder affectionately. "They are the preferred companion of ymbrynes in Russia and Finland, and grimbear-taming is an old and respected art among peculiars there. They're strong enough to fight off a hollowgast yet gentle enough to care for a child, they're warmer than electric blankets on winter nights, and they make fearsome protectors, as you'll see here . . . PT, left!" 

Myron couldn't stop praising the grimbears as we entered a cozy anteroom. In the centre, under a glass canopy, stood three elegant ladies with a massive, intimidating bear standing guard over them.

"That's Miss Waxwing, Miss Troupial, and Miss Grebe," Myron said, "And their grim, Alexi." At a second glance, it was clear that the grimbear was actually shielding the wax ymbrynes. The women stood peacefully beside it as the bear stood tall on its hind legs, frozen mid-roar. "Alexi was PT's great-uncle," Myron said. "Say hello to your uncle, PT!" 

PT grunted.

"How long does it take to train a grimbear?" Jake asked Myron.

"Years, Grims are naturally very independent." He replied.

"And is Alexi made of wax, too?" Emma said to Myron.

"Oh no, he's taxidermy." 

Myron seemed to have no problem with stuffing strange animals, unlike his aversion to stuffing odd people. I couldn't help but imagine the chaos if Addison were around. Jake felt a chill run down his spine as Emma soothingly rubbed his back. Myron noticed, too, and said, "Forgive me! I so seldom have visitors that I can't help showing off my collection when they come. Now, I keep promising tea, and tea there shall be!" Myron pointed his cane and PT resumed walking.

As we trailed behind them, we ventured out of the dusty artifact storerooms and explored various sections of the house. In many aspects, it resembled the typical abode of a wealthy individual - an entrance hall adorned with marble columns, a grand dining room adorned with tapestried walls and ample seating, and wings dedicated solely to showcasing tastefully arranged furniture. However, in every room, amidst all the other belongings, there were always a handful of items from Myron's unique collection.

"Fifteenth-century Spain," he said, indicating a gleaming suit of armour standing in a hall. "Had it made new. Fits me like a glove!" 

Finally, we arrived at the library, which was the most stunning I had ever laid eyes on. Myron instructed PT to place him on the ground, removed fur from his jacket, and welcomed us inside. The room was at least three stories tall, with shelves reaching dizzying heights above us. Various staircases, catwalks, and rolling ladders were built to access them.

"I confess I haven't read them all," Myron said, "But I'm working on it." He guided us towards a group of cozy couches encircling a crackling fireplace that spread its comforting heat throughout the room. Sharon and Nim were patiently waiting by the fire.

"Call me an untrustworthy lout!" Sharon whispered angrily, but before he could scold me any further, Myron quickly dismissed him to bring us some blankets. 

Thankfully, we were under the care and favour of my uncle, so Sharon's scolding would have to be postponed. In no time, we found ourselves comfortably seated on a couch, snugly wrapped in warm blankets. Nim busily flitted around, arranging tea on elegant trays, while PT cozied up in front of the crackling fireplace. I settled down next to the bear, who was already dozing off into a peaceful hibernation.

Sharon found solace in a corner, sulking silently while managing to eavesdrop on our conversation. Emma couldn't wait to skip the formalities and get straight to the point. "So," she said. "Can we talk now?" 

Myron paid no attention to her. Although he was seated across from them, his gaze was fixed on Jake, wearing the strangest little smile on his face. "What?" Jake said, wiping a dribble of tea from his chin.

"It's uncanny, You're the spitting image," he replied.

"Of who?" said Jake.

"Of your grandfather, of course."

Jake lowered his teacup. "You knew him?" he said.

"I did. He was a friend to me, long ago, when I badly needed one," said Myron.

I quickly looked over at Emma. Her face had lost some colour and she was gripping her teacup firmly. "He died a few months ago," Jake said.

"Yes. I was very sorry to hear it, and surprised to be honest, that he held out as long as he did. I assumed he'd been killed years ago. He had so many enemies—but he was exceedingly talented your grandfather." said Myron.

"What was the nature of your friendship, exactly?" said Emma, her tone like a police interrogator.

"And you must be Emma Bloom," Myron said, finally looking at her. "I've heard a great deal about you."

She seemed surprised. "You have?" Emma said slowly.

"Oh, yes. Abraham was very fond of you." Myron smiled at her.

"That's news to me," she said, blushing.

"You're even prettier than he said you were."