The Disappearing Dwarf Read Free Page B

trees ran blood rather than sap, and that once every hundred years on that same night incredibly old trees in the depths of the woods performed ancient circle dances before an audience of goblins. It didn’t surprise him a bit, in fact, that both elves and goblins lived in the midst of oak woods.
    The same trees that had been skeletal and foreboding the previous autumn were clothed now in green, and their great limbs hung out low over the river, shading the still water along the shores. Jonathan lay on his back, barefoot on the deck, watching the intermittent blue sky and green tangle of leaves overhead. He was relatively happy to dawdle along so and smoke his pipe, and he hoped that the trout would ignore his bait for a bit longer. He was struck by the strange thought that it was too bad he hadn’t baited his hook with Talbot’s rubber cheese so as to guarantee his peace, and it occurred to him that perhaps Talbot wasn’t as thick as he seemed. Perhaps he liked the
idea
of fishing more than its generally preferred result. The thought appealed to him; it seemed to take some of the wind out of the trout’s sails.
    Just when he thought he could go on so all afternoon, the Professor slumped down beside him on the deck with what appeared to be an old blueprint. ‘Here it is.’
    Jonathan raised up onto his elbow and peered at the thing. It seemed to be the dusty old floor plan of some multistoried stone edifice, of a castle perhaps. It didn’t mean anything at all to him. ‘Are you going into real estate?’ he asked the Professor.
    The Professor winked at him. It was a wink full of meaning. ‘Both of us have been into this piece of real estate already, Jonathan. And if it wasn’t for the Squire, we’d likely still be there, two heaps of bones.’
    Jonathan looked a bit closer at the plans and recognized the great hall on the ground floor with its high trestle ceiling. There was the immense stone chimney and the great windows through which he himself had hurled a wooden bench. It was a drawing of the various levels of the castle on Hightower Ridge, abandoned now by its master, Sclznak the Dwarf. Jonathan was immediately suspicious.
    The Professor tried to placate him. ‘I found this drawing at the library in town, of all places. I thought I knew every map and manuscript in there. I was nosing around in Special Collections and there it was, just tossed on the counter in a heap as if someone had brought it in yesterday and had left it there for me. Wonderful luck, really.’
    ‘So you were studying architecture then, eh?’ Jonathan asked, squinting past his pipe at the Professor.
    ‘A bit. Lately, though, I’ve been studying the lower levels on this drawing.’ The Professor paused to grab a handful of shelled almonds out of a cloth bag and toss a couple into his mouth. ‘Look at these hallways that run off here from the cellar. They must run away into the earth. And look at this notation.
Cavern of Malthius
it says. Then this one,
Cavern of the Trolls
. Isn’t that something?’
    Jonathan tapped his pipe out into the river and admitted that it was indeed something. The Professor pointed to another bit of faded lettering almost lost in a blur of smeared ink. ‘To the
d-o
– ’ the Professor was reading the inscription off letter by letter. ‘What do you suppose that means?’
    ‘Obviously it used to read, “to the dog,” ’ Jonathan said. ‘Trolls lived in this cavern, a dog lived down here. Probably there was another room for cats and one for pigs and one for curious people like this Malthius chap who showed too much interest in finding out which room was which.’
    The Professor smiled and shook his head. ‘It’s not dog, Jonathan; there were at least four letters here.’
    ‘Dogs then,’ Jonathan countered. ‘An even better reason not to go poking around there, as I see it. Last December, after we spent such a fine evening there, you said you had intentions of returning to do a bit of exploration.