Page 55 of Search for the Lost

The door opened, and Leo, Aspin, and Minkis piled out of the bahn-bahn ahead of Crispin. They came to an annoying halt, leaving him bottled up inside the conveyance.

“Wow… this place is just like a little burgh in Germany.” Leo’s head swiveled around appreciatively.

Crispin cleared his throat.

“Oh, sorry, Crispy.” Leo moved out of the way, clearing a path for him to exit.

Crispin gripped the sides of the vehicle, his hands coming away smeared with the brown substance. It smelled like the best Swiss chocolate, a confection beloved throughout the Connected Worlds. “Leo, would you grab me one of those napkins your mom sent along?”

Leo frowned, a shadow passing over his features. “I don’t suppose I’ll ever see her again.” He popped back into the bahn-bahn and retrieved one of the neat white paper squares, handing it to Crispin. “Will the bahn-bahn wait until we are ready to go?”

Crispin blinked. “Ah, no, it won’t.” His head was a muddle. Too many things to think about. Too many memories. He wiped his hands clean. “Let’s get our bags out, and we’ll book a room here. They usually have a couple upstairs, if you can stand the sounds of carousing below.”

Leo laughed. “I love some good carousing. It’s chaotic.” He frowned. “How are we going to pay for it?” He handed Crispin the first of their bags.

“Mother has an account here. Fae credit is good anywhere. Well, except on Earth.” Why is Earth such an exception to every rule?

Crispin sighed. Such mysteries wouldn’t be solved today.

He looked up at the neatly stenciled sign. He’d never known what the name signified. His mother would have enjoyed that. She probably knew.

The last time he’d been there, it had been for quite a different reason….

Crispin had spent the better part of the day locked up in the trunk of his mother’s enormous carriage. She’d spent the day in preparation for her departure, though she’d been especially cagey about her destination.

“It’s her Dark Day,” he’d overheard one of the servants whispering. The capitals were implied by her tone of voice, stoking Crispin’s curiosity.

He’d just reached his hundredth birthday, meaning he was well into his adolescence. He’d always done what he was told, except for that one time with the Red Door—the Chaos Door. That had scared the screaming bejeesies out of him—he’d heard their agonized cries as the little things left his body and fled into the trees that surrounded the Estate. He’d been on better behavior ever since.

Mother had disappeared before, occasionally, but by the time he’d noticed, she’d been long gone.

This time he’d resolved to crack the mystery. He was itching to do something forbidden, to show a streak of teenaged rebellion. Aspin had gone through a similar phase a few decades before, though he’d settled mostly into a permanent rogue status, emulating his mother and sleeping with as many of the Estate’s visitors as he could manage: male, female, in-between and other. Leo called him pansexual—to Crispin he was just greedy.

Crispin hid in the recesses of the Grand Garage, where Mother kept her carriage and all of her travel accoutrements. He’d ensconced himself inside a basket that usually stored blankets and linens and was woven loosely enough for him to watch the activity.

The delivery of goods for this mysterious trip grew over the hours, as servant after servant added to the pile. Crispin’s legs and feet began to tingle and then cramp, but he held himself still. Trunks and hat boxes and lumpy canvas bags were deposited on the pile next to the open trunk of the carriage, eventually reaching above the height of the vehicle itself. No way was all that going to fit, unless magick was involved. Which it usually is, around Mother.

At last they started stacking it into the trunk. Bag after bag, suitcase after suitcase went in, and the trunk barely seemed to get any fuller.

Crispin grinned. Definitely fae magick at work.

But the central mystery remained. Where was she going that required such transport, when she could just wish her demesne wherever she wanted to go? The carriage was generally used only for official events that required a bit of pomp and circumstance.

Once the pile was reduced to nothing, the Grand Garage stood empty save for him, the carriage, the usual scattershot of stored items, and the broad mirrored wall on one end that allowed the carriage transit to other worlds.

He heard his mother’s distinctive voice in the distance, though he couldn’t quite make out what she was saying.

It’s now or never. He popped open the lid, managed to get out of the basket, and upon standing, groaned at the pain in his feet. With a distinct limp, he approached the carriage.

All the luggage was stored inside the trunk, neat as could be, and it had shrunk to a quarter of its normal size.

His mother’s voice echoed inside the garage again, this time far closer. “If the Grand Poobahs of Ponkerton should call on me, tell them I will return in six days. I am not to be disturbed until then. Am I clear?”

Left with no other choice, Crispin leapt into the trunk and landed on a bright green-and-yellow valise. His stomach did somersaults as the rest of the world went wobbly around him. His surroundings were growing exponentially—or he was shrinking—and the whole thing made him feel all tossy-turny inside. He held his stomach and fought the urge to throw up, just as the golden, jewel-encrusted side door to the Grand Garage was thrust open.

“What’s this? Why is this basket in such disarray? And why is the trunk still open? Don’t I pay you lot enough?”

Crispin didn’t wait to hear the answer and instead scurried behind a giant chest embossed with the queen’s royal logo.