CANDLELIT CHRONICLES: HISTORIC HAUNTS

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Chapter Eight








         Disaster-natural or otherwise-had never befallen our fair city before. In my fifteen years, I had experienced only peace and a fair amount of plenty; in Pastor Janns' study I had read, at his and Mamma's joint directives, much of the histories of our City: Mellaigch was located at the confluence of three hills, overlooking a fine harbor inlet, specifically because it was considered a lucky, a blessed, locale. Royal sorcerers dispatched by the King had scoured this region before determining which locality would be preferable to construct a colony city, and here we still were. Nearly a millenia had passed without serious windstorms, tidal waves, quakes, forest fires, plagues, or any other such horrid disaster-until the night before last, when the sea turned against us and destroyed our shores.





         All this consideration passed through my thoughts while I watched Constable-in-Training Larrs carefully examine the sidewalk where I had stepped, the grass between the sidewalk and the street where I stood now, and then the area of lawn where the silent infant had lain, staring up at me. I realized that suddenly, as I had apparently overlooked it at the time, and decided to mention it toher, in case that might be considered evidence too.





         “The baby stared at me-he actually watched me-even before I turned, I think,” I told her now. She now stood on the sidewalk, and had been leaning forward to more closely study the grass, I guess, but now she straightened, turned, and gazed at me quizzically.





         “What do you mean, Miss Fenrich?”





         “The baby-the baby I found. I just remembered that when I turned from the corner and started to walk back this way, that's what caugth my attention-I mean, I felt the attention-you know how you do when someone's looking your way!”





         She looked on at me a moment longer, then nodded, and glanced back to the spot where the infant had lain. The grass, I noticed now, had not even matted down, which made no sense. I pointed that out to her too. She said she had noticed that.





         “So you think the infant stared at you, and that is what took your attention?”





         “Yes, Constable-in-Training, I do think so. I felt “the stress of his regard,” as it were-I read that phrase in a book once,” I smiled.





         She just nodded again and crouched down to study the grass, poking at strands with a pencil she took from her tunic pocket.





         “See? No matting, no disturbance, no evidence. Just does not make any sense. Illogical. I don't understand this. That infant had weight and substance-not a magical construct. How long had he lain here before you spotted?” she mused.


         “Even if only moments, while you walked on from this spot to the corner, even if you stopped there for some time and pondered, then turned and started back West up this sidewalk, that's still at least two to three moments, possibly as much as fifteen, sixteen, wouldn't you say, Fenrich?” she turned to me.





         “I'd guess at between half a dozen and ten, but yes, I do agree. And I heard no sounds as of someone moving around behind me-it was as if either the infant had already been there, and I just didn't see, but he noticed me as I passed-but then why would I not have felt his regard earlier?-or someone deposited him there while my back was turned, and how do so this silently? And not mat the grass-you see he was not close to the cobblestone path leading up to the door of the house!” I reminded her.