“Rest in peace, Ol’ Braddock,” said Myth.
She and I were standing in the Boyle family’s private cemetery. Just in front of us was Braddock’s headstone.
“The people of Bramble still remember you,” I said.
Myth placed the small bouquet of flowers that she had brought at the base of his headstone. “It’s a paltry tribute,” she told the headstone, “after everything you did for my people. But there weren’t a lot of flowers I could pick this late in the year.”
“It’s the thought that matters,” I told her.
Side-by-side, we held a moment of silence for Braddock, Lord Boyle…
While Myth and I are paying our respects to Braddock, let me describe his headstone. This is important, Buster. So do not complain that I am getting off topic or adding too much detail. I know how you like to complain, but you are just going to have to be patient this time.
Anyway, Braddock’s headstone was six feet tall. Engraved in big letters upon its base was a short tribute:
Braddock, Lord Boyle
The Savior of Bramble.
Above this tribute was a life-sized statue of Braddock. And two stone urns flanked the statue. These urns were huge; each one was as tall as the statue.
And we are done. Now that was not so bad, was it? Once again, you must feel foolish for thinking I would babble on and on. Ha! That’s what you get for doubting me…
What’s that, Buster? You think I am babbling on and on right now. Oh, very well, let’s return to my story…
Our moment of silence ended when an elven woman entered the cemetery…
Oh, silly Izzy! I did not tell you what Bard and Bumble were doing while Myth and I visited the cemetery. How careless of me. I am sorry, Buster. I did not mean to confuse you by being a bad storyteller. I just forgot about them. That’s understandable, right? Anyone would want to forget about those buffoons.
Anyway, they had gone off to procure some shovels. But I had not given them any coins this time. So I am certain that they intended to procure the shovels by stealing them.
Now, stealing is naughty, Buster. But desecrating a grave is even naughtier. And those fools wanted to dig up Braddock’s grave in search of the final clue.
I had refused to help them, and so had Myth. Once again, Bard and Bumble had kicked us out of the gang. And that had been fine by us.
Okay, now you are caught up with the story. Again, I am so sorry about that, Buster.
So…
An elven woman walked into the cemetery. She was not old, but she was clearly older than Myth and me. In her hand, she carried a bouquet of flowers.
Myth and I watched her as she approached a headstone that was a few rows away from us. She placed the bouquet just in front of the headstone. Then she bowed her head, partaking in her own moment of silence.
Once she had paid her respects, we walked over to her.
“Greetings, Sister,” Myth said to the woman.
“Good afternoon,” I added, smiling. I had been around enough elves by now to know what this woman would do once she noticed me. So I decided to put an end to that twaddle before it began. “My friend is called Myth, or Mythilda. And I’m Izzy—just Izzy. Please, don’t call me Miss. And please, don’t bow your head. It embarrasses me.”
The woman laughed. “You remind me of him,” she said, gesturing towards the headstone she was visiting.
I glanced at the headstone, more specifically at the name engraved upon it: Lad Bartholomew Boyle.
“I’m Teleri, by the way,” added the woman.
“Did you know Lad Bartholomew?” Myth asked Teleri.
“Aye,” replied Teleri, nodding her head. “Lad Bartholomew and I grew up together. My ma was the cook at the Boyle’s estate. She still works for the family that moved in after the tragedy. Me too, as a maid. They’re nice enough, but they aren’t the Boyles.”
Teleri placed her hand on top of Lad Bartholomew’s headstone. “There’s not many humans that’d allow an elf to play with a respectable Lad. But Lord and Lady Boyle were special.”
She nodded at me. “Like your friend here.”
“Oh, I’m not special,” I murmured as I fiddled with my hair.
“Aye, you are,” said Teleri. “Not many humans treat us proper like you do. Lad Bartholomew was just as nice as you are. Being the same age, he and I became good friends.”
Teleri paused and smiled. “I was sweet on him, actually.”
Pausing again, Teleri gazed at Lad Bartholomew’s headstone with a dreamy look in her eyes. Then she went on, “That Lad had quite the imagination. One day, we’d be fighting dwarves. And the next, we’d be sailing the seas as pirates. We even had a special hideout: a cave about a mile east of here, near Boyle’s Lake.”
Teleri laughed. “Boyle’s Cave, it’s called. But Lad Bartholomew called it ‘The Howling Den.’ The wind howls something dreadful near its entrance. It gave me the shivers to go in there alone. I haven’t been back there since the tragedy.”
Tears trickled out of Teleri’s eyes.
I pulled out my handkerchief and handed it to her.
Wiping her eyes, Teleri said, “Appreciate that, Miss—Izzy, I mean. Sorry—old habit, you know.”
“I understand,” I told her. “It took Myth a while before she became accustomed to calling me Izzy, too.”
Teleri handed my handkerchief back to me. “Sorry I got teary. That was supposed to be a special trip for Lad Bartholomew, spending a whole month with his papa. Lord Boyle loved his son, but he was an important man—busy, like. Lad Bartholomew missed him terribly. So that trip meant everything to Lad Bartholomew. He couldna wait for it. Had the whole trip planned, he did: first to Boyle’s Mountain, then to the City Proper, and finally back to here.”
Teleri kissed her palm and then placed it atop Lad Bartholomew’s headstone. “Fate is a cruel thing. That tragedy—why couldna it have happened at the end of the trip instead of at the beginning? That way, Lad Bartholomew would’ve gotten to spend that month with his papa.”
Teleri curtsied to us. “It’s kind of you to listen to me. I don’t get to talk about Lad Bartholomew much. And it helps—talking. But I must return to my duties. The Missus will be cross if I’m late.”
Myth and I bid Teleri farewell and watched as she hurried away.
“Everywhere we go,” I said, “we meet someone who remembers the Boyles.”
“I don’t think that’s a coincidence, Iz,” replied Myth. “They were important to Bramble—people remember that.”
Myth and I walked back over to Braddock’s headstone. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s find the clue before those idiots desecrate a good man’s grave.”
“Where should we look?”
“Remember Black Bart’s message?” said Myth. “He told us to bring some flowers for Braddock. Well, we did that. But I don’t think Black Bart meant that literally."
She placed her hand on the urn that was to the right of Braddock’s statue. “Do you think a sculptor would take the time to hollow out these huge urns?”
“That would be really hard and take a long time,” I replied. “I’d probably hollow them out just enough for someone to plant some flowers in them.”
“Right,” said Myth. She grabbed the top of the urn with both hands. “And these urns are tall, so tending to the flowers would be difficult. Neglected, the flowers would die and not be replaced—making these urns perfect hiding spots.”
Myth pulled herself up and peeked into the urn.
“Nothing,” said Myth after she had lowered herself back to the ground. “Let’s try the other one.”
Myth walked over to the other urn, grabbed hold of its top, and pulled herself up. “Here we go,” she called out.
Groaning, Myth strained to pull herself even higher. Up and up she slowly went until her tummy was resting upon the urn’s rim. “Got it!”
Looking down at me, Myth said, “Catch, Izzy.” Then she dropped a wooden keepsake box into my waiting hands.
Myth jumped down to the ground, landing beside me. “Go ahead and open it.”
I did just that and removed another scroll of parchment from inside the box. Unrolling the scroll, I read Black Bart’s final message aloud—in my best pirate voice, of course:
“Yargh! Well done, me hearty. Ye’ve found me final clue. Yar-har-har! Now off with ye to Boyle’s Cave. Me bountiful booty waits for ye in there, if ye be brave enough to face the howling ghosts that haunt that dreaded place. Yargh!”
I handed the clue to Myth. Bouncing up and down, I exclaimed, “How exciting! Think about it, Myth. We’re going to find the treasure! Just one more place to visit—and it’s connected to the Boyle Family, too.”
Myth put the clue in her trouser pocket. “There’s a reas—”
“Fair damsels,” cried Bard as he rushed into the cemetery, shovel in hand. “Fear not, for I—The Bard—have returned.”
Bumble was right behind Bard, but he did not have a shovel.
“Sadly,” said Bard when he reached us, “we only managed to procure one shovel. So we shall be forced to dig in turns. Seeing as how Bumble and I obtained the shovel, it’s only fair that one of you lovely ladies dig first.”
Myth yanked the shovel out of Bard’s hands.
“Nuh-uh,” said Myth. She put the shovel’s wooden shaft against her knee and broke the shaft in two.
Tossing the broken shovel aside, Myth declared, “You’re not going to dig up Ol’ Braddock.”
Bard threw his arms into the air. “But the clue—”
“Isn’t buried with Braddock,” Myth cut in. She folded her arms across her tummy. “Look, it’s been a laugh watching you dolts embarrass yourselves, but I draw the line at grave robbing. That’s why Izzy and I found the last clue while you two were stealing that shovel.”
“You found it!” exclaimed Bard.
“Good job, Babe,” added Bumble. “So, where’s the treasure buried?”
“Nuh-uh,” said Myth. “It’s late in the day and I’m tired. The treasure can wait until tomorrow. And if I told you where the treasure is hidden, one—or both—of you would sneak off during the night and steal it. Now, I don’t care about the treasure. But Izzy wants to find it; she’s so excited that she was literally bouncing up and down a moment ago. I won’t let either of you ruin that moment for her.”
Bumble grumbled. “Fine, Babe, we’ll do it your way. But this foreplay is starting to bore Bumble.”