A cobblestone path led from the cottage to the mouth of the cave. The individual rocks were pressed deep into the ground, indicating a lot of back-and-forth traffic. In the bright morning sun I saw lots of other other bare spots and paths; the Crystal Cave must do bang-up business.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Kern said with a satisfied sigh. “Come on, youngster.”
Kern’s bare feet smacked on the stones. As I followed, I looked around at the shadows within the thick forest, suddenly struck by how many places were suitable for an ambush. It seemed unlikely that Agravaine and his pals could have tracked us, though. We’d been on well-traveled roads with a wagon identical to hundreds of others on the same byways, and we’d gone hours without seeing anyone else. With no distinctive trail or witnesses, we should be completely safe. Unless they knew where to look.
“You know,” I said to Kern, “I met a boy who said you have dragons in the woods around here.”
He laughed. “Hot steam shoots up from the ground in a couple of places. Same thing that heats the spring in the cave. Makes a hell of a noise. I might’ve let on that they were dragons, though. It keeps a certain kind of person from trying to sneak in here and make mischief.”
A wooden gate blocked the cave entrance, its lock dangling from a chain. Kern opened it and called out, “Hey, girls, it’s just us!” A giggle of acknowledgment rang faintly from the depths.
Kern took a lamp from a hook, struck a flint, and lit the wick. It cast a golden glow that sparked off the wall’s quartz deposits. “I found this place when I was a boy,” he said wistfully. “I bought it as soon as I could and for four decades never told a soul. Chased two bands of squatters out of it over the years before I finally built my cottage and moved in permanently. It’s the last place I want to see when the light finally fades for good.” He closed the gate behind us and locked it.
“You have the key?” I asked. He had no apparent pockets on his tunic.
“I’m the world’s greatest wizard, I don’t need a key.” He snapped his fingers and the big lock popped open. He snapped it shut again and we headed deeper into the cave.
“When I left court,” he said as we walked, “I decided I’d create my dream here, out of rock that wouldn’t equivocate or resist when I tried to polish it.”
“Like Marcus?”
He didn’t respond.
More faint giggles and splashing reached us. The floor was relatively level, going horizontally into the rock instead of downward. The ceiling was a high arch, the stalactites safely out of range. “It’s just up ahead,” Kern said, pointing with the lamp.
A wooden partition closed off the tunnel; one end went flush to the wall, while the other left a gap you could step around. The words YOU’VE FOUND IT! THE CRYSTAL CAVE were painted on the wood in big, looping letters, decorated with flowers and butterflies.
He stopped. “Wait,” he whispered, and closed his eyes. I was about to ask what he’d heard when I realized he was praying. His lips barely moved, but he stood formally straight. Then he sighed, turned to me, and smiled. “Every time I come in here, I thank the spirits of the cave for their hospitality.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in magic.”
“I never said that, son. I said I didn’t need to use it to do the things most people consider magical.” Then he gestured that I should precede him around the barrier.
I admit, I was skeptical. I’d seen gimmicky things like this before, and they never failed to be tawdry, vaguely depressing experiences. Such as the Mermaid of Agoya, who was just an old woman with deformed feet trying to be sexy in nothing but strategically placed seashells. I stepped around the partition and stood in the darkness, waiting for Kern to bring the light.
And, boy, did he bring it.
A miniature city of impossible detail rose from the cavern floor. The tallest building didn’t quite reach my chest with its delicate, impossibly thin spires. Since it was built from the same rock as the cavern, it sparkled with the same reflected light, helped by the black paint that covered the cave walls and ceilings.
At the center stood the walls of a huge, square fortification. Within these, taller than anything else, rose a beautiful castle with tiny banners flying from its towers. Inside the real building, I knew, lay the fabled meeting chamber of the Knights of the Double Tarn, unseen by anyone not part of their brotherhood with the lone exception of Cameron Kern. I wondered, if I peered into this model, if I would see a facsimile of the real one.
“Motlace,” Kern said proudly. “As I always saw it. The real city is considerably less…”
“Sparkly?”
“Clean,” he said with a laugh. “I left out the mud and manure.”
“It’s… something,” I said, truly at a loss for words. I knelt and looked at the nearest building, a tiny livery stable at the city’s edge. I realized that, rather than being an etched surface, its walls were made of tiny stone-chip planks stuck together with glue. Even the ropes dangling from the hitching posts were not made of thread, but rather tiny stone beads fitted and glued to resemble ropes. The illusion was uncanny. It would not have surprised me had a little blacksmith no taller than my thumb emerged and waved up at us.
“This is what I tried to create through Marcus,” Kern said. His voice was no longer amused, but had grown sad and weary; for the first time he sounded like an old man. “We had everything we needed at our fingertips. And it almost happened, too. A bit more focus, a frog’s hair more courage, and it wouldn’t be just an old man’s toy. But the real world won’t stand for such beauty.” He sighed with weariness and defeat. “That’s really why I left. I wanted to create something beautiful, but the ugliness always wins.”
I stood, still awed by the creation before me. “How long did this take?”
“It doesn’t really matter. At least I created my paradise somewhere, and people can see it and appreciate it.”
“Has Marcus ever been to see it?”
“No,” Kern almost spat. “He’s not interested in seeing more proof of his failure.”
“Most people consider Grand Bruan a stunning success.”
“Compared to an acorn, a sapling is a giant. But it’s nothing like a full grown oak.”
“You know, Mr. Kern,” I said diplomatically, “you keep dropping these hints and comments, so I feel I have to ask. What exactly did Marcus do that was so bad?”
Kern sagged, and his eyes grew wet. He closed them tight. “I can’t tell you, son. You’re right, I want to tell you, I want to tell everyone. Nothing, not rock or metal or the dirt of your grave, is as heavy as a genuine secret.” He wiped the lone tear that escaped his eyes and smiled. “I’d hoped you would figure it out for yourself, you know. You’re a smart one, I can tell. Maybe smarter than I was at your age. You know all the players and all the pieces.”
I scowled. I didn’t need a giggled-up old man criticizing my professional skills. “Maybe I’m not as smart as you think I am.”
“Do you play anything?” he asked out of the blue. “Any musical instrument, I mean.”
I was a worse musician than I was a horseman. “No.”
“Learn. Pick something, learn to play it. Best thing in the world for staying sharp. Your brain will thank you one day.” He had an idea and slapped my shoulder. “Come on, I’ll give you your first lesson.”
“No, that’s okay, really.” I held up my cast. “See?”
“Ah, come on, that’s nothing. I’ll have you playing ‘The Smiter and the Smote’ before dinner.”
I tried to change the subject. “Shouldn’t we check on Jenny and Amelia?”
He threw back his head and hollered, “Jenny and Amelia!”
The cry echoed until its response-a lilting “Wha-at?”-drowned it out.
“Just checking on you,” Kern bellowed.
“Fine as wine,” Amelia replied.
Kern turned to me. “There’s no way into the cave but this one, and I pity anyone who riles up Amelia.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Unless you want to join them? Amelia and I share everything. Everything, ” he repeated with a wink.