"Two days," the old man answered quickly. "Perhaps three. But not more than that, I don't think. Time runs together." Drollo stared into Calvin's emerald green eyes. "I sent Elias as soon as I noticed her gone."
"We'll find her," Galvin stated simply, hoping his tone would help lessen Drollo's worry.
The druid tugged his cloak loose and glanced about for a rack. There was a pole-shaped object behind a large crate, but it was well out of reach. Shrugging, he laid the dripping garment across a tall, narrow crate lettered "frangible." Next came the boots. They made a slurping sound as he pulled them loose and water spilled out. The puddle beneath him grew to cover half of the entryway, and the water began to seep between the crates. He pulled his tunic over his head and laid it unceremoniously on top of the cloak, leaving his wet chest glistening in the light from the oil lamp overhead.
Elias poked its head out and chittered a scolding to the druid.
"The floor will dry," the druid told him.
Barefoot and shivering in the dampness of the tower, Galvin padded past Drollo, with the weasel scampering at his heels.
The lagging, shuffling footsteps of the old man followed the druid, who started picking his way down a hallway lined with a jumble of crates. In places the boxes were piled six feet high, as tall as Galvin, and the writing on most of the labels had faded with age. Dust blanketed many of the crates, showing they had not been moved in a long time. However, some had been tampered with recently. The druid noted small, round holes where mice had chewed their way into them.
Emerging into what he remembered as the sitting room, Galvin saw more crates and clutter. Stuffing spilled out of the furniture in places, adding to the disorder on the floor. Nicks covered the wooden arms and legs of chairs that Galvin recalled from his youth as being polished and perfect. The cushions and tabletops were cluttered with papers, knickknacks, and other objects. Only one piece of furniture, a large black leather chair, stood devoid of odds and ends.
“The woman was crazy to leave a little girl here," Galvin muttered.
The shuffling behind him stopped. "Oh, it didn't look quite this bad when the girl arrived a few weeks ago," Drollo nervously defended himself. "I'd picked up a bit and, er, cast a spell to hide all the crates and cover the dust."
The druid groaned and dropped to his knees. He peered under the furniture. Amongst the filth were scraps of paper and an old, toeless slipper that was much too large for Drollo.
Elias sprinted past the druid and dove into a mass of webs. The weasel returned a few moments later, trailing a cloud of gray-white webbing that was dotted with the husks of unfortunate insects. Elias brushed up against a table leg, knocking most of the webs loose, then began squeaking at the druid.
"Yes, I know she's not under there," Galvin replied. The druid rose to discover his wet leggings were coated with grime. Futilely he tried to brush them off.
"Her name?" Galvin turned to Drollo.
The old man beamed. "Isabelle. Named after my second wife."
"And you're certain she's still inside?"
"Oh, yes. She's too small to reach the door latch or the windowsills."
"And she's been missing two days, maybe three?"
"Yes," the old man stated simply.
Galvin rubbed his chin. "When I was her age," he mused aloud, "I occupied myself for days rummaging about your tower. But after two days she should have come out for a bite to eat-if she could." At once he regretted saying that, knowing the old man would fear the worst.
"The kitchen," the druid offered quickly. "If she's all right, she has to be looking for food. We'll start searching in the kitchen."
Drollo frowned and shifted his weight back and forth on his slippered feet.
"What is it?" Galvin asked curtly.
"She might not be hungry," Drollo suggested. "I have bits of food stashed all over the tower. I'm getting old, you know, and sometimes it's hard to get around. I keep things to eat here and there, so when I get hungry I don't have to come all the way downstairs to the kitchen."
The druid sighed. "Is she prone to playing games? Is it like her to just disappear like this?"
"She likes to play," Drollo said. "Hide-and-find is her favorite game."
The druid scanned the clutter. There were dozens of hiding places for a little girl in this room alone, and there were eight floors to the tower and a deep basement that had more than two levels. "You used magic to hide this mess," Galvin began. "Did you use magic to look for her?"
A pained expression crossed Drollo's face. "Oh, Galvin, would that I had that kind of magic. I can mask things, make something look like something else, make sounds appear out of silence, or silence something noisy. My magic doesn't have any real substance to it. I'm sorry." He chewed his lower lip. "What about your magic?"
"I'm a druid," Galvin noted flatly. "I can't do that sort of magic either."
"But you talk to Elias. And I've seen you talk to plants and rocks," Drollo stammered.
"I don't see how those skills are going to help us here."
Drollo blanched. "Then what are we going to do?"
"We're going to find her the old-fashioned way, by searching for her," Galvin sighed. "You start looking over there." He indicated the section of the room blanketed in sheafs of parchment.
"I've looked there. I think I've looked everywhere," Drollo moaned. "This is my fault."
The druid pointed again, and the old man complied, shuffling toward the parchment mound. Drollo began shuting through the mass. "Isabelle!" he called. Unsurprisingly, no one answered.
An hour later the druid was certain every inch of the room had been searched. There was no sign of a little girl.
Frustrated and sneezing, Galvin strode from the room and nearly bumped into a pile of crates in the hallway. "What's in all of these?" he asked. The old man pursed his lips. "Oh, things I've collected through the years. I've forgotten what's in most of them. You'd have to look at the labels. What room shall we try next?"
The druid continued to stare, dumbfounded, at the mounds of boxes and piles of books. If he were outdoors looking for someone, he would track them like a hunter tracks an animal. Broken branches, muddy footprints, flattened grass, and other clues would point the way.
Perhaps, Galvin thought, I was wrong about my magic, especially if I treat this collection of junk like the wilderness.
The druid looked around, searching for disturbed patches of webbing. His eyes rested on the base of a large crate. There, nearly hidden by the shadows, a mouse was tugging a pale pink ribbon into a hole. Galvin knelt and began squeaking to the mouse, but the little rodent was determined in its task and ignored the druid. Reaching forward, Galvin snatched the ribbon and squeaked again.
The mouse shuddered with fear, wriggled its nose, and darted into the hole.
Galvin rubbed his thumb across the silk ribbon, still shiny and new. "Isabelle's?" he asked.
The old man looked at the ribbon, then nodded slowly.
"I'm tracking her," the druid said simply. "Let's try the next floor."
Only a pathway at the center of the stairs to the upper floors was clear of debris. An accumulation of junk rested against each banister. Galvin scanned the collection of chair legs and discarded oil lamps, pausing only when he spied a brass vase precariously poised on a step halfway up. He carefully picked his way through the hodgepodge and knelt by the vase. Elias darted under Calvin's arm and sniffed it, black, beady eyes reflecting warmly in the curved surface. The weasel chartered uneasily.
"Yes, it's unusual," the druid answered.
"What?" Drollo huffed as he climbed the stairs, a thick candle in his right hand. "You found something?"
Grasping the vase at the rim, the druid turned and sat on the step to face the old man. "This vase," Galvin began. "It's peculiar."