Grandma's jaw tightened. You're sure?
It was a little tricky finding him and sneaking a good look, considering who else is confined there, but yes, I am certain.
He's well?
He's alive.
Lena was with him?
The naiad? Sure, I saw her too.
Was Muriel in the vicinity?
Muriel? Why would she... oh, that's what that was!
Ruth, the agreement was for a single piece of information.
But no, I didn't catch sight of her. I believe this concludes our arrangement. He gestured toward the ladder. If you will excuse me, I need to lie down.
The Far Side of the Attic Grandma refused to talk while they were in the ravine.
She wore a dour, thoughtful expression and hushed any attempts at conversation. Kendra waited until they were back on the path beside the covered bridge to try her question again.
Grandma- Kendra began.
Not here, Grandma admonished. We must not discuss the situation out in the open. She motioned for them to huddle close and continued in a hushed tone. Let this suffice. We must go after your grandpa today. Tomorrow might be too late. We will return home immediately, get equipped, and go to the place where he is being held. I will reveal his exact whereabouts once we are indoors. Muriel may not yet know his location, and even if she does, I don't want her to learn that we know.
Grandma stopped whispering and hurried them along the path. Sorry if I have been antisocial since leaving Nero, she said after they had walked in silence for a couple of minutes. I needed to devise a plan. You kids really did an exceptional job back there. Nobody should have to spend an afternoon rubbing a troll's feet. Seth was heroic on the logs, and Kendra did some well-timed bluffing during the negotiations. You both surpassed my expectations.
I never knew you were a masseuse, Kendra said.
I learned from Lena. She has collected expert instruction from around the globe. If you ever get a chance to receive a massage from her, don't turn it down. Grandma tucked some errant strands of hair behind her ear. She became distant again for a moment, pursing her lips and staring remotely as she walked. I have a few questions for you two, things we can talk about in the open. Have you met a man named Warren?
Warren? Seth repeated.
Handsome and quiet? White hair and skin? Dale's brother.
No, Kendra said.
They might have brought him to the house on Midsummer Eve, Grandma prodded.
We were with Grandpa, Dale, and Lena until after sundown, but never saw anybody else, Seth said.
I never even heard him mentioned, Kendra added.
Me neither, Seth agreed.
Grandma nodded. He must have stayed at the cabin.
Have you met Hugo?
Yeah! Seth said. He's awesome. I wonder where he went?
Grandma gave Seth a measuring glance. I trust he has been attending to his chores in the barn.
I don't think so, Kendra said. We had to milk the cow yesterday.
You milked Viola? Grandma said, plainly astonished.
How?
Kendra described how they had set up the ladders and slid down her teats. Seth added details about how milky they had gotten.
Resourceful children! Grandma said. Stan had told you nothing about her?
We found her because she was mooing so loud, Seth said. She was shaking the whole barn.
It looked like her udder was going to explode, Kendra said.
Viola is our milch cow, Grandma said. Every preserve has such an animal, though not all are bovine. She is older than this preserve, which was founded in 1711. At that time, she was brought over from Europe by ship. Born from a milch cow on a preserve in the Pyrenees Mountains, she was about 100 years old when she made the voyage, and was already larger than an elephant. She has been here ever since, gradually gaining size each year.
Looks like she's about to outgrow the barn, Seth said.
Her growth has slowed over the years, but yes, she may one day become too colossal for her current confines.
She provides the milk the fairies drink, Kendra said.
More than the fairies drink it. Her ancient breed is nourished and worshipped by all creatures of fairydom.
They place daily enchantments on her food and make secret offerings to honor and strengthen her. In return, her milk functions as an ambrosia central to their survival. It is no wonder that cows are still considered sacred in certain parts of the world.
She must make tons of dung, Seth said.
Another blessing. Her manure is the finest fertilizer in the world, coaxing plants to mature much more quickly than usual and sometimes to reach incredible proportions.
By the power of her dung we can reap multiple harvests from a field in a season, and many tropical plants flourish on this property that would otherwise perish. Did you kids happen to put milk out for the fairies?
No, Seth said. We spilled it all down the drain. We were mainly trying to calm down the cow.
No matter. The absence of milk might make the fairies a little ornery, but they'll get over it. We'll see they get some tomorrow at the latest.
So normally Hugo milks Viola, Kendra surmised.
Correct. It is a standing order, so there must be a reason he has not carried it out during the past couple of days.
You have not seen him since Midsummer Eve?
No.
He was probably assigned to watch over Warren and the cabin until summoned. He should come if we call.
Could something have happened to him? Seth asked.
A golem may seem like little more than animated matter granted elementary intelligence, but most creatures on this preserve fear Hugo. Few could harm him if they tried. He will be our chief ally in rescuing your grandfather.
What about Warren? Kendra asked. Will he help too?
Chapter Twenty-One
Grandma frowned. You have not met him because his mind has been ruined. Dale has remained on this preserve mainly in order to care for him. Warren is lost in a catatonic stupor. Fablehaven has many stories. His is another tragic tale of a mortal venturing where he did not belong.
Warren will be no help to us.
Anybody else? Seth asked. Like the satyrs?
Satyrs? Grandma exclaimed. When have you met satyrs? I may have some choice words for your grandfather when we find him.
We met them by accident in the woods, Kendra assured her. We were taking stew from what looked like a well, and they warned us that we were actually stealing from an ogress.
Those rogues were protecting their underhanded operation more than you, Grandma huffed. They have been pilfering her stew for years. The scoundrels didn't want to have to rebuild their thieving device-probably sounded too much like work. Satyrs live for frivolity. The ultimate fair-weather friends. Your grandfather and I share a mutual respect with various beings on this preserve, but there is not much more loyalty than one would find out in the wild. The herd looks on as the sick or injured are brought down by predators. If your grandfather is to be rescued on such short notice, it will be our doing, with none but Hugo to aid us. * It was late afternoon when they reached the yard.