The Unnameables (19 page)

Medford gasped. Nobody heard him because Earnest was rattling things again. Just as well—Medford didn't want to stop reading.

Pa said all knew there was no Person named Capability C. Craft, that 'twas a compendium of items stole from a Mistress Wolley and a Master Murrel and Old Wives and such, published by an unscrupulous Printer for Gain and naught else. Samuel said Pa should shut his Mouth for the good of this Island and its People.

Medford couldn't read any more. All his life, Capability C. Craft had been Island's hero, answerer of questions, settler of arguments. Now he was Wolley and Murrel (more senseless names) and "an unscrupulous Printer," whatever that was.

He read the words again—
no Person named Capability C. Craft
—and tried to make them mean something else. But there was nothing else they could mean.

What else did the Book lie about? Would the shellfish fritter recipe really feed fifteen people? Was there a floor beneath his feet? The room felt cold, the world outside dark and lonely and dangerous.

Was this what had made Essence laugh? Had she
teased her father about it and made him angry? Threatened to tell other Islanders, maybe?

The next entry in the journal was routine, all about planting and weaving. So were the next one and the two after that. But then:

Twenty-eighth day of the Sowing Moon. I be Jeremiah Weaver now, and my Name in the Booke as such. Pa is still Comstock, as he says he ever will be. Ma is Weaver. They ain't speaking.

"There's something strange here," Prudy said.

"Here, too," Medford said.

"This isn't in a journal. 'Tis in the table. Something scratched into the wood."

"Aye," Medford said. "But what I've got here—"

"You have to see this. Now."

Reluctantly, Medford marked his place with some of the yellow paper and joined Earnest to peer over Prudy's shoulder. Scratched into the wood was a little ... Medford didn't know what to call it, but it was like a little man with very skinny arms and legs, something square in one of his hands. He seemed to have a coat on and a hat on his head.

"A tricorn hat like Master Learned's," Prudy said. "And a Councilor's robe."

'"Tis nothing," Earnest said, sounding disappointed. "A joke of Essence's, making fun of her father."

"Who would do such a thing in the open like this?"
Prudy shuddered. '"Tis Unnameable, just like Med-ford's—"

"But what's this?" Medford used his finger to trace another scratch, a double line that ran from the little man over the edge of the table. He squatted to follow the scratch under the tabletop all the way to the beam down the center of the table. And there, in the crack between the beam and the tabletop, was a folded scrap of Archives paper.

"Keeps the table from wobbling," Earnest said, squatting beside him.

Prudy dropped to her knees and joined them.

"I don't know about that," Medford said. He pulled the scrap out and unfolded it. He couldn't read the four hastily scribbled lines in the darkness under the table. But at the bottom, scrawled black and large, was a signature anyone could read anywhere.

From Essence,
it read.
Soon to be gone.

We must lock the Archives. These accounts of past lives do breed rumor and unrest. But anyone may read them as long as I or Brother be there to advise.

—Journal of Haywood Learned, 1856

T
HE ARCHIVES
door opened.

"Bweh-eh-eh. Where a-a-are you?"

Earnest snatched Essence's note from Medford's hand, backed out from under the table, and tried to stand too soon, soundly whacking his head on the tabletop.

By the time Medford had extracted himself, Earnest and Prudy were hunched over the scrap of paper, Earnest rubbing the back of his head.

The Goatman shut the door behind him. "Why were you under the ta-a-able?"

"We found a note from Essence Learned," Medford said. "Deemer's daughter, who was sent away from here."

"Wha-a-at's a note?"

"More words on paper."

"I thought those we-e-ere by dead people. Is she dead?"

"No, but she's gone. She left a note behind to tell us something."

"Bweh-eh-eh." The Goatman grabbed paper and an inkwell. He dribbled ink on the paper and spread it around with a pen.

Prudy and Earnest paid no attention, just squinted at the note in the flickering lantern light. "Usually her handwriting's quite neat," Earnest muttered. "She was in a hurry."

"This first sentence...," Prudy said. "Let's see ... that's
Medford,
dost thou agree?"

"Aye," Earnest said. "
Medford's parents,
I'd say."

"My parents?" Medford tried to push Prudy aside but she wouldn't budge. She moved the note so he could see it. There, in the middle of the first sentence, was something that did look like "
Medford's parents.
" The sentence said,
1. Oily hose, stralit lim, Medford's parents (sonth eud) Enst to TH.

"
Oily hose, Medford's parents?
" Prudy said, sounding offended. "What does that mean? And then what's this underneath?
2. Bott drawer.
"

The Goatman looked up, chewing, "She didn't write a ve-e-ery good note."

"'Twould slow her father's understanding, in case he found it," Earnest said.

"So now she's slowed
our
understanding." Prudy muttered.

"
Bott drawer,
" Earnest mused. "She means Deemer's bottom drawer, the one we just opened. She's telling us what he did with the journals he took from the shelves."

"It could be any bottom drawer," Prudy said. "She might not even be talking about the journals."

"What else would she be thinking about, sitting up here?" Earnest said.

Prudy ignored him. "And what about this first item?
Medford's parents.
What would they have to do with our journals?"

"I thought you said she wasn't talking about the journals."

"I didn't say she wasn't. I said she
might
not be."

Medford let them bicker. Why was Essence writing a note about his parents? He tried to think but his brain wouldn't work.

"Enough, Earnest," Prudy said. "We need to concentrate.
Oily hose, stralit lim, Medford's parents Enst (sonth eud) to TH.
She cant really mean
oily hose,
can she? And what does she mean by
Enst?
"

Medford had a brainstorm. "Short for Earnest!"

Even in the lamplight, they could see Earnest turn red. "Why would she be writing about me?"

"Something to do with Medford's parents," Prudy said. "What hast thou to do with Medford's parents?"

"Nothing," Earnest said. "
Something something, something something, Medford's parents something something Earnest to TH.
Maybe she was telling me to go to Town Hall?"

"But the note is
in
Town Hall," Prudy said. "If she wanted thee to come here she would have put the note someplace else."

"I think
TH
is Town Hall, though," Earnest said. "
Something something, something something, Medford's parents something something Earnest to Town Hall.
Essence, what in the Names are you telling me?"

"South end," Medford said. "That thing in the brackets. That's south end."

"Aye. South end," Prudy said. "Maybe
Enst
isn't Earnest after all." She held the note closer to the lamp and squinted at it. "Enst ... Enst ... that's definitely an
E
but that
n
really could be any letter in the alphabet.
A, B, C, D...
"

"Could it be an a?" Medford asked. "
Medford's parents (south end) East to Town Hall?
"

Something was nagging at him. He went over what he knew, or thought he knew. When had Essence written this note?
Soon to he gone.
Probably after that last Book Learning class, when Deemer had made her sit far away from her New Learners.

In his mind's eye, Medford saw her sitting there, sitting there, sitting there, staring off into space. But wait... she wasn't staring at nothing, was she? She was staring at that huge map on the wall,
Island and Surrounding Waters.

"Deadman's Shoal," he said. "In that last Book Learning class, she was staring at Deadman's Shoal." Prudy and Earnest looked up. "Where my parents died. Let me look at that note again."

He held it close to the lantern the way Prudy had, concentrated on the words that looked like
Oily hose.

"
Oily hose,
" he said. "
Oily hose, oily hose, oily hose...
"

Earnest peered over Medford's shoulder. "Only house."

"
Stralit lim, stralit lim,
" Prudy said, scribbling the words on a piece of paper. "Starlight limb. No. Stra-a-a ... straight! Straight ... line. Straight line."

Only house, straight line, Medford's parents (south end) East to Town Hall. That was it. Had to be.

"But there are three or four houses between Town Hall and the south end of Deadman's Shoal," Earnest said.

"Only the oldest houses are on the map," Prudy said.

"And maybe only one is on a straight line between the south end of the shoal and Town Hall," Medford said. "We have to go down there and see."

"Wha-a-at's a map? Who is dead? Wha-a-at's a shoal?"

"And we have to do it in the dark," Prudy said. "We don't have enough blankets for all the windows in the auditorium."

They all looked at the Goatman. "I wi-i-ill be the moon," he said.

They didn't bother cleaning up after themselves. Repairing Deemer's desk and replacing the lock would take
too much time and Earnest wasn't sure he could fix either of them, anyway. They did take the red journals they'd found in the desk drawer.

Medford made sure he took Jeremiah's journal. He didn't want to distract everyone with the news about Capability C. Craft. He'd tell them later.

Closing the Archives door as best they could, they made their way slowly, quietly down the stairs behind the Goatman. The Constables weren't making as much noise as before, but every now and then one of them would let out a loud, reassuring
snork.
Otherwise, Town Hall was silent as a Dairyman at dinner.

As they crept down the stairs and across the landing to the auditorium door, Medford had time to think about
Island and Surrounding Waters.
He'd stared at that map every day of Book Learning, especially at Deadman's Shoal. He could see it in his mind's eye as if it were right in front of him. He thought he had a pretty good idea which house was on a straight line between the shoal's south end and Town Hall.

He wouldn't say yet, though. No point in upsetting Prudy until he had to. Not that she hadn't figured it out for herself, most likely. Earnest, too.

The auditorium's eight windows let in more starlight than the three in the Archives. Medford could just see where the desks and chairs were, but no matter how he squinted he couldn't tell what was what on the map.

"We'll move the Council table over to the wall so we can stand on it," Earnest whispered. "And we can use Deemer's ruler to draw a straight line between the shoal and Town Hall."

"I'll get it," Prudy said.

Medford and Earnest moved the table over to the wall and stood there, contemplating how to get the Goatman up on it.

"I could run a-a-and jump," the Goatman said. "I'm good at running and jumping. I don't even need my staff if I'm moving fa-a-ast enough."

Medford wondered if the Goatman was as good at running and jumping as he was at windwork. "May we lift you instead?" he asked.

"Bweh-eh-eh," the Goatman said.

"Is that aye or nay?" Prudy whispered to Medford.

"Aye," Medford said, hoping he was right. "Prudy, you get on the table and hold on to him when Earnest and I get him up there."

"Will it hold all of us?" Prudy said.

"Grandpa built it," Earnest said. "Of course 'twill."

Sure enough, the table didn't even creak when Prudy clambered up on it, nor when the Goatman, Medford, and Earnest joined her.

Even up close, Medford couldn't see much on the map. "Goatman," he said. "The first thing you have to find is the beach on the shore to your left and..." Did the
Goatman know left from right? Medford seemed to remember him saying he could read "No Left Turn," whatever that meant.

"Prudy," Earnest whispered. "What in the Names are you doing?"

Prudy seemed to be tapping. The sound was familiar but Medford couldn't place it.

"Here," Prudy said, handing the Goatman something. Medford reached out and felt what it was ... a chalkboard from the Book Learning class. "I wrote down the two names we're looking for. This top one is 'Deadman's Shoal'—try to match it first. 'Twill be right where thou art standing."

"Prudy," Medford said, trying to stuff fourteen years of friendship and admiration into one word. For the moment, he didn't care how much of a Learned she was.

"Thou art annoying," Earnest said, "but thou art not stupid."

The Goatman found the right word sooner than anyone could have hoped. "He-e-ere's that half-moon shape in the front"—
that's the
D
in
Deadman's, Medford thought—"the-e-en some smaller shapes then a bi-i-ig snake shape."
That has to he
Shoal.

"Put the end of the ruler under that word and Med-ford will hold it straight," Prudy said. "Then move this way"—she eased him to the right—"and find this other word, with this big ... um ... table shape in front."

The Goatman found "Town Hall," too, and put the other end of the ruler under it.

"Now," Prudy said, "tell us what you see in between, just above the ruler."

The Goatman was silent only for a minute. "You mean li-i-ike this little round thing here? It has a word beside it."

"Tell us what the word looks like," Prudy said.

"A big shape I know from before I ca-a-ame here, then some little shapes." He pondered, then announced proudly, "It says
Left Turn.
"