Correspondence
When Maevis stopped by later that evening, she found Serendipity fast at work as usual. She was certainly not in a talkative mood either, not that she ever was, but on this particular night, she only made the occasional grunting noise to either agree or disagree with Maevis’s questions. This was particularly true when it came to her inquiries about whether or not there had been any follow up to the letter. She had asked almost immediately whether or not one of St. Nicholas’s assistants had ever come to speak with her. Serendipity had made an awful noise in the back of her throat, one Maevis took as either a stern “no” or a complete refusal to discuss the matter, and so she had dropped the subject.
After a few more minor attempts at starting a conversation, she finally made an ethereal noise of her own, and crossing her arms sternly said, “Fine then. I guess I shall leave you in peace with your little friends.” Then, noticing that only a few of the mice were actually out and about--and none of them looked quite as familiar as they should, she added, “Where is Pozzletot? Have the two of you had a tiff?”
Serendipity paused, paintbrush in the air hovering over the face she was working on. Her head snapped around to look at Maevis. She glanced at the table, then at the floor, her eyebrows knitting together in curiosity. She slowly began to shake her head. “He must be… angry at me… again. I haven’t seen him for hours, not since….” She stopped mid-sentence, catching herself before she could say something she would regret.
But Maevis was too quick. “Not since what?” she asked, her hand on her hip, eyeing Serendipity carefully.
Serendipity glanced at her, attempting to read her face. She could see her friend knew something was up. She decided to play nonchalant. “Nothing. Not since earlier, since I stopped for a bite to eat. That’s all.”
Maevis was not convinced. She looked around the room carefully. Was there anything out of place? Did anything look unusual? No, everything looked fairly normal. Then, looking over towards the door, something caught her attention. She hurried over for a closer inspection. There on the roughly hune wooden floor was a large footprint, one that was much too large to be her own or Serendipity’s, and it looked as if it belonged to a man’s boot! “Serendipity! You’ve had a visitor!” she exclaimed, whirling around to look at her charge, her shawl spinning about like a cape.
“I’ve no such thing,” Serendipity insisted, stabbing her paintbrush into the jar of water and dropping the doll head onto the table a littler more violently than she should have.
“Yes, you have!” Maevis insisted, both hands on her hips now as she took the two steps back over towards the table. “There’s a footprint on the floor, and it’s much too large for you or I!” With these words, she pointed in the direction of the muddy footprint, which was almost indiscernible in the dimly lit room--but it was there; she was sure of it.
“You’re imagining things,” Serendipity insisted, her nose in the air. “No man has been in my chambers--ever.”
“Why do you lie, child?” Maevis asked, her hands flailing wildly in a gesture of frustration. “Was it an elf? One of Santa’s helpers?”
“No,” Serendipity huffed, crossing her arms across her chest. “It was just some… man… in a red suit. That’s all. And he was only here for a few moments. He was from the village… I’m sure of it. He wasn’t from the North Pole. And he was just here to poke fun and ridicule me. I let him in for a moment--only a brief moment--because he insisted he needed a drink of water. And then I sent him out again post haste!”
Maevis puckered her lips as she often did when she was in deep thought. After a moment, she asked, “You let a man in here?”
“Yes.”
“Some strange man in a red suit?”
“Yes.”
“But he did ask you to go to the North Pole with him?”
Serendipity nodded.
“And you told him no?”
“Of course.”
Maevis was thinking again. She began to stroke her chin with her thumb and first finger, her other arm crossed over her waist. “And when you refused, he simply left?”
“Yes.”
Maevis shook her head as if she simply did not believe everything she was hearing. But Serendipity did not see her. She had already turned back to her work, hoping that ignoring the questioner would make the questions stop, and she could return to her work in peace.
“How did he get here?”
“I don’t know.”
“How did he get in?”
“I told you. I let him in,” she said over her shoulder.
“You just opened the door?”
“Yes.”
“Since when do you open the door to… anyone?”
“Since he was banging on my door, and I knew he wasn’t going to just go away. However, I wish you would. Can’t you see how very busy I am?”
After a deep sigh, Maevis replied, “Fine. But what are you going to do if he comes back?”
“He won’t be coming back, I assure you,” Serendipity replied, glancing briefly over her shoulder at her friend. “You may let yourself out.”
Maevis opened her mouth to ask another question but then closed it abruptly, realizing that Serendipity was done with the conversation before it even began. She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, picked up the basket she had brought with her off of the table, and turned to the door. As she pulled it open, she said, “You should have told me.” There was no answer. “Be careful,” she added as she stepped out, pulling the door to behind her.
As she made her way down off of the rickety front steps, she noticed the same footprints in the mud outside. How had she missed them before? They distinctly led up to the door and then away. Through a light misty rain, she followed them around to the side of the cottage, over to a small copse of trees. There, she saw distinct hoof prints which seemed to suddenly appear in the mud a few feet from the trees. While there were a few steps leading out of the way of the low hanging branches, they disappeared again only a few yards away as if whatever animals had left them had both appeared and then exited with only a few footfalls. She was quite astonished at the discovery but knew it would be pointless to go back in and speak to Serendipity about it now. Perhaps she would mention it in the morning when she returned, if her ward seemed any more inclined to speak. In the meantime, she needed to hurry back to Marwolaeth as there was plenty of work to do and only two sets of hands with which to do it.
Once she was sure Maevis had stepped away from the rickety front porch, Serendipity took her advice and crossed over to the door, dropping the lock in place. If Mr. Cane was to return, he would find a doll maker far less inclined to let him in than the one he had met previously. Without another thought, she returned to the doll she was working on, wondering only briefly what she had done to offend her dear Pozzletot.
Much later, perhaps late in the evening (or was it early the next morning?) there was another clatter at the fireplace. Serendipity turned her weary head to look in the direction of the noise only to discover a second letter dancing in the flames. She couldn’t help but let a small curse word escaped her lips, knowing whatever words this correspondence contained it would not be welcome. Perhaps Mr. Cane would insist on another meeting. Perhaps he was announcing he would soon return to Dunsford to see her again. Whatever it was, she chose not to address it just then and continued to work on the dress she was sewing. She fully expected the appearance to draw forth her good friend from his hiding place, and while there had been several other mice squeaking about all day, even this newest commotion did not bring out Pozzletot, which Serendipity found rather odd; he was always so curious about such things. The other mice seemed alarmed, and she wondered if they were not trying to tell her something. Since she was not fluent in any of their languages--only Pozzletot’s expressive form of communication--she ignored them as well, and turned her full attention to the gown. Reading was too difficult and it was the last thing she wanted to do on a night--or was it morning--such as this.
Hours later, when the dress was completed and she could tell by the small sliver of light creeping through the curtains that it was daylight once again, she realized Maevis would likely be returning soon. If she didn’t dispose of the letter before her friend arrived, she would certainly read it and might find out that Mr. Cane had been a bit more persistent than she had initially let on, though once he left he had done so obligingly.
With a great sigh, Serendipity stepped over to the fireplace, and using the poker, she knocked the letter from the flames, bending to retrieve it off of the floor. Her name was written in his familiar handwriting on the outside of the envelope in the same gold ink, and shaking her head in annoyance, she used her spindly finger to rip the envelope open.
My Dearest Ms. Fizzlestitch,
Again, this part was easy.
Ia mafraib somet hinq unexq ecbeb haqqenb when Ileft yourresbenc ear lier to bay. It see ms on off you r mose fri enbs snus kintoe my posket. If you wolb lik from me to retoon him, ple ase droq me a lin.
Sincerely,
Cornelius Cane
Serendipity was quite puzzled. Very little of the letter made any sense to her at all. She simply could not decipher what Mr. Cane was trying to tell her. It didn’t seem as if he were asking her to return to the North Pole with him again. She read the words again and again, trying different sounds for the vowels, a strategy both her father and Maevis had taught her, but nothing seemed to make any sense. She crossed over to her table where the lamp sat, lit it, and took a seat in her chair, hoping the stronger light might help her a bit. Just then, she heard a loud squeaking sound from atop the table, and she turned her attention that direction, hoping it was Pozzletot come to help her. Instead, she found another mouse, Gypsim, and she seemed to be trying her hardest to tell Serendipity something.
Frustrated, she sat the letter down on the table and gave Gypsim her full attention. “What is it, little friend?” she asked.
Gypsim scampered over to the letter and began to point at it, as if her information had something to do with the letter. Serendipity didn’t understand. “The letter?” she asked.
Gypsim’s head waggled up and down furiously. Serendipity continued. “You want me to know something about the letter?”
Again, the mouse agreed.
“Can you read the letter?” Serendipity asked, wondering if too many late nights had caused her to become delusional.
However, Gypsim signaled that this was not the case. No, a mouse could not read human handwriting. Serendipity was puzzled again. “All right. But it does have something to do with the letter?”
This was confirmed, and so Serendipity made another guess. “Does it have to do with Mr. Cane?”
Gypsim jumped up and down and was soon joined on the table by Muffincrumb, Bitsy, and several other members of their mouse community.
Serendipity hooked her finger through the corner of her mouth as she did while in deep thought. “Where is Pozzletot?” she wondered aloud, sure that her friend would be able to help her understand.
At the mention of his name, the mice began to squeak furiously, and Serendipity stared down at them, her head cocked to the side in confusion. “Pozzletot?” she asked, hearing them chirp loudly once again. “Does the letter have something to do with Pozzletot’s disappearance?”
The mice were all jumping up and down now, gesturing at the letter, squeaking, and a few of them began to run about as if they simply could no longer contain themselves.
Serendipity looked at the letter again. “I certainly don’t see his name anywhere,” she muttered. “But then, Mr. Cane wouldn’t know his name, now would he? Even if I mentioned it, he probably wouldn’t remember…. So, what must it say?” She glanced through the words again, and then, finally, on the fourth or fifth try, she realized that word--the one that started with an “m” a few lines in--that word wasn’t “mose” or “moose” or “mo-use” as she had tried on the other occasions--it was “mouse!” Her eyes wide, Serendipity exclaimed, “Did Pozzletot go with that man?”
The mice were in a fury now, running about, clapping their wee mouse hands, nodding their tiny mouse heads. Gypsim even appeared to be smiling at her own success at being able to communicate her message to the lady of the cottage at last.
Serendipity couldn’t believe it. “My Pozzletot? Why would he…, but it doesn’t make any sense. Was he so angry at me that he decided to leave with that… that… strange man?”
The mice were of little use now as none of them truly knew the reason for Pozzletot’s disappearance, and they were so overjoyed with their ability to get their message across, they had moved on to celebration.
On the other hand, Serendipity was not ready to celebrate at all. “Well, I guess he’ll just have to stay at the North Pole!” she exclaimed leaning back sharply in her chair. With that, the mice stopped in their tracks, staring at her, their little mouths hanging open. “What?” she asked. “If he chose to go to the North Pole, then that shall be his new home.”
The mice were clearly protesting now, and Serendipity became a bit suspicious. “Do you think he did not wish to go along with this Mr. Cane then?”
Tiny mouse shoulders seemed to shrug as they glanced at each other, not sure what to think with their tiny mouse brains.
“Was he kidnapped? Taken against his will?” Serendipity’s voice grew higher with disgust and trepidation.
Once again, the mice could not answer, only skitter about, looking at each other and back at Serendipity.
“Well, then, that’s another story. I must get him back! I shall write a letter to Mr. Cane demanding that he return him at once!”
The mice cheered again, jumping up and down and raising their fists in agreement.
Serendipity looked around her small living space but soon realized there was little chance that she would have a piece of paper. Wasting no time, she simply tore the end off of the sheet she had in her hand, Mr. Cane’s second letter, and plucking a paintbrush from the jar, using sharp black letters and hoping he would be able to read her message, she wrote simply:
Breeng him bak.
Sincerely,
Serendipity Fizzlestitch
She recalled Mr. Cane’s advice to simply drop the letter in the fireplace, but she thought this might require a magic envelope. So, she used the black paint to cross out her own name and then wrote, “Mr. Can” on the outside of the envelope, stuffing the scrap back inside once she was sure it was dry. The seal had been broken so she had to do her best to re-heat it and make it stay fastened as best she could. Then, with her fingers crossed for luck, she dropped the envelope into the fireplace and waited for a response.
It did not take long. Only moments later, a third envelope showed up, her name visible even in the dancing flames. She retrieved it with her bare hands, not thinking about the fire or the slight scorch her fingertips suffered as she did so. Ripping it open, she read:
Iam afra ib that is not pose idle. He is hib in g in the wal. You shayl half to comb re trive him.
While Serendipity couldn’t decipher the whole message herself, she did understand one word--”not.” As in Pozzletot would “not” be coming back. Panic stricken, she did the only thing she could think of to do. Snatching up the other letter, she ran out the door, not even bothering to put on any shoes, and ran as fast as she could up the hill toward the place that haunted her dreams, the one place she had sworn she would never return to--Marwolaeth Hall.
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