"Do you know Anne, Missus?" the boy called to her.

Freya looked over her shoulder at him but did not answer. She winced at each step, slowly wending her way through the bleating sheep.

Chapter forty-eight

The Greatest Love of All

As soon as Ingrid had entered the slanted room on the first floor of the Ucky Star, the pixies started bombarding her with information. She had to keep telling them to slow down, and they finally calmed a bit. She had driven Joanna's car here to put more money down on the room and check up on them. It seemed that being back at the motel had opened the floodgates of memory. She really needed them to get to the point; the Valkyries could show up any minute. Freya was in a time warp, trying to figure out the mystery from that end. All the Beauchamps were busy trying to find a way to save Killian.

"We're from alfheim and we're called alfar. My real name is Skuld," said Kelda. "Well, actually, I'm half alfar, half Valkyrie. The Valkyries look down on me as a half-breed. Anyway, I've always been more alfar-identified."

"Oh, I've heard of Skuld!" said Ingrid. "A famous warrior and witch." She looked at Kelda thoughtfully. It was obvious whoever had put a spell on the pixies had divested them of their powers somewhat.

Kelda smiled proudly, lifting her narrow chest. She certainly didn't seem like someone who would raise soldiers from the dead to return them to battle. Kelda was too sweet and so cute with her delicate, pale round face and black tough-girl clothes. She had gotten a Medusa piercing in Midgard, a tiny garnet nestled in the philtrum above her rosebud lips; it did look pretty on her.

Ingrid was grateful to be getting such specifics at last, but she was so preoccupied, not only about the looming threat of the Valkyries but also about Freya, out there time trotting. She wished she had been the one to go instead, keeping her little sister out of harm's way: Freya had returned to a dreadful, dangerous time for a witch. Ever since her sister had left, the many times Ingrid thought about her, she squeezed her eyes shut, sending a protection spell Freya's way. She hoped her powers were such that they would reach her, but she feared it might not be enough.

"Do you remember who made you steal Freddie's trident?" Ingrid asked. "That's the most important matter of business at hand. Then we'll work on getting you to ... Ahem." She sounded as if she was clearing her throat when she said the latter, because she had never heard of the place before and didn't quite catch the name.

"alfheim," Kelda corrected.

"An ass," said Sven from the armchair.

"Excuse me?" said Ingrid.

Sven took a pull on his Kool and exhaled. "An ass made us steal the trident," he said, exhaling a smoky sigh.

"Well, I'm sure an ass made you do it," retorted Ingrid. "And that's a naughty word."

"No, what he means is the type of god," said Irdick from the desk on which he was perched, his feet swinging back and forth. "He's an ass."

"Oh," said Ingrid. "I haven't heard of that kind of god before. Interesting. An ass. Well, do you know anything else?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Sven bluntly, which was his way. He grabbed the bottle of booze on the floor and swigged.

Ingrid wished Sven wouldn't drink so much. Maybe she could get him to attend an AA meeting while he remained in North Hampton. It was anonymous after all. Tabitha had told her she was a proud member of that group and had been gratefully sober for years now. She raised an eyebrow at Sven, waiting for him to continue.

"Ah!" he said after gulping down way too much at once. "The ass, whoever he is, kidnapped us from alfheim to steal the trident, but afterward it left us to wander Midgard to cover his tracks. But, unfortunately, we cannot remember who the guy is or what he looks like. That still makes our heads hurt. It's kind of like a blackout." Val came over and squeezed Sven's shoulder, and Sven batted his hand off.

Ingrid was glad to have more substantial clues. Maybe the pixies would remember eventually. She would come back tomorrow. In the meantime, she would go to Joanna and Norman with all this information. Her father had taken to driving up to North Hampton and spending the night lately. He and Joanna would know what to make of all of this.

Though she had much to fret about, Ingrid was relieved to have a purpose. It helped keep her mind off her pathetic love life, even if it had lasted only two hot seconds. She had stopped thinking so much about Matt, her first and only love, and still hadn't heard a peep from him since the breakup. Well, perhaps she only thought of him a little now. Or was it more than that? She hugged herself. What was that noise? A rushing sound. It was chilly and so moist in here; the heat was on, but it seemed as if cold, wet air crept in from every little crack. "What's that sound?" she asked, pointing vaguely in its direction.

"That's a leak," said Val. "In the bathroom. It's gotten kind of bad."

"I'm going to have to ask them to fix that for you before it gets any worse," she said, distracted. She really needed to get home. Poor pixies. She kind of missed them being in the attic, having them close by, which was strange because it had been so stressful when they'd been at the house. She imagined that this was what it was like to have children. They drove her crazy, but she did miss them terribly once they were out of sight.

Chapter forty-nine

Come Sail Away

Freddie took another trip into the city, this time to visit Hilly's father at his downtown offices, located on the southernmost tip of Manhattan inside a triangular glass building resembling the bow of a ship that faced the East River. Standing before the skyscraper, looking up, Freddie almost lost his footing with the vertiginous feeling. The silver-blue walls shone blindingly in the midday light. The man was up there on the forty-second floor. After having spent thousands of years in Limbo, nothing in this world daunted him, but Freddie found Henry Liman terrifying, and not knowing the purpose of his visit further increased his angst. Hilly had texted him the address and appointment time the day before, and Freddie had arrived early, knowing Mr. Liman would expect punctuality. He took the elevator up and found the offices of Her Majesty's Shipping Co.

In the lobby, with curving walls of bubbly, frosted glass that appeared liquid, was a clear pod - also shaped like the bow of a ship or perhaps the top of an anvil, and inside sat a young man wearing a wireless headset. Behind the pod, three glass cases inside the wood-paneled wall displayed antique ship models.

"I'm here to see Mr. Liman," Freddie said, in suit, tie, and polished dress shoes. This time he had borrowed the outfit from Norman, so it wouldn't vanish - despite Mr. Liman's love for magic tricks.

The receptionist requested Freddie's name, looking at him blandly, then pressed a button, and said, "Mr. Liman, Frederick Beauchamp to see you."

Freddie smiled nervously, dabbing his brow with the handkerchief Ingrid had given him for the trip.

With much disapproval, the receptionist glared at Freddie. "You're early. Have a seat, and Mr. Liman's assistant will be out to get you."

According to the loudly ticking clock inside the glass pod, it was only seven minutes before the appointed time. There was no pleasing Mr. Liman. Freddie clasped his hands behind his back and strode over to the ship models to pass the time. He did love a good old-fashioned ship.

The first was the Fancy, Pearl, Victory, and its black sails indicated, indubitably, that it was a pirate ship. The second, Queen Anne's Revenge, had a dazzling oversize wooden hull of several tiers, large white sails, and a square-nosed bow, adorned with wooden mermaids, horses, and gods instead of a single prow. This ship Freddie proudly recognized; it was rather well-known as the largest pirate ship to have existed. He had come across it in his online catch-up studies, becoming quite the autodidact on the history of seafaring. Edward Teach, Blackbeard, had captured her in the Caribbean in 1717, christened her with that name, and used her for battle at the apex of his of reign of terror.

"Mr. Beauchamp?" squeaked a meek voice. Freddie turned toward a gaunt, mousy fellow, also with a headset. "This way," he said. The assistant guided him along more watery curving glass until it gave way to a door, which he opened for Freddie, then nodded, signaling for him to enter alone. As Freddie stepped into the office, the sun shone so brightly from the windows ahead that he couldn't see at all, although he did immediately recognize the voice, which made the hair on his arms rise.

"All of my employees are male, but that doesn't mean you should take me for a sexist. It's because of my wife," said Henry Liman. "Hollis." He harrumphed.

Freddie had a hand up at his face to block the glare and was still trying to make out Liman. "I didn't," he said.

"Good," said Liman. "I wouldn't be sending Hilly - and Gert, too - to that expensive school if I were. Sexist, I mean."

Now Freddie could see that Henry was smugly smiling to himself behind an enormous, intimidating, gleaming dark cherry-wood desk, also curved like a ship. There was certainly a theme here. He waited for Liman to ask him to take a seat and wondered if he would. "How is Hollis?"

"Fine. Everyone's fine. Take a seat," said Liman.

"Thank you, Henry," Freddie said, remembering Mr. Liman had insisted on being called by his first name.

"It's Mr. Liman."

"Mr. Liman." Freddie sat on the edge of the chair as Norman had instructed him ("Don't sit all the way back if he thinks you're a slacker"). There was less glare down here, and he could see Mr. Liman's face clearly now, his drawn pointy features, his thin black mustache, his sparkly eyes observing him curiously, the sun making an outline around him.

"So, it has come to my attention that you are going to be working for my partner on this - ahem - tuna run."

"Yes," said Freddy, eagerly inching even more forward, sitting with perfect posture for the man.

Liman swiveled around in his chair toward the window. He rose and walked down to the side of the room and pressed a button, and blinds slowly came down, making Freddie feel grateful, but he suspected it was all part of some psychological plan. Mr. Liman wanted him to feel that way.

"Although I gotta level with you; this isn't exactly a tuna run," Liman said. "More like a dangerous treasure-hunting expedition."

"Even better!" said Freddie.

Liman returned to sit at his desk. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

"Okay," said Freddie, wriggling in his seat, although the shade now was much better.

Liman picked up a long, slim, sharp-looking dagger, a letter opener, Freddie supposed, its chrome shining brilliantly. "I do have something to propose that you might find amenable."

"What's that?" asked Freddie.

He was studying the dagger, which he ran along his palm. "If the mission is successful, namely, if you can single-handedly retrieve the treasure, then I will give consent for my daughter's hand."

"Awesome!" Freddie had risen to his feet, beside himself, nearly trembling with joy. He hadn't expected this at all. Of course, he would retrieve the treasure, even if it were a thousand trunks of doubloons.

"It's rather light. I mean, not too big," said Mr. Liman as if reading Freddie's mind. "But a dangerous expedition nevertheless. If you are willing to embark on it, then you may marry my girl, but first you have to sign the contract."

Freddie was ecstatic and wanted to jump up and down, but he contained himself, instead letting out a deep breath. "I'm ready. Where do I sign?"

Liman gave him the once-over, then smiled to himself. He pushed at a sheet of paper before him, glancing at it, then looked up at Freddie. "We'll need a witness." He pressed a button on the desk. "Bleaker, is my partner here?"

"Yes, Mr. Liman," came the mousy fellow's voice from the desk.

"Please send the captain in," returned Liman.

This was the third time Freddie was meeting the captain, and when he strolled in, he was not in his whites and captain's hat as he had been last time Freddie had seen him. Instead, he wore a three-piece suit and emerald tie with a gold pin.

Freddie rose to greet him. "Captain Atkins," he said, extending a hand. Freddie realized he had seen him before - and not just at the alley. He had seen the good captain leaving his mother's house that Thanksgiving Day, carrying a large bouquet and looking a bit upset. He hadn't mentioned it to his family in the tumult of his return, but it crossed his mind now that he probably should. How did Harold Atkins know his family?

They shook hands, and the captain gave him an amiable, warm smile.

Mr. Liman cleared his throat and addressed him. "Harold, we need you to witness the signing of the contract in blood."

"Why, of course," said Harold, smiling at Freddie. "I'm delighted to have Freddie on board!"

"Blood?" asked Freddie.

"Standard." Liman picked up the dagger he had been playing with. "That's why I have this." He held the dagger up, handed Freddie an ostrich feather pen, and then came around the desk with the sheet of paper. Then Liman and Captain Atkins loomed over Freddie, who held out his palm, looking away.

Chapter fifty

Devil's Haircut

The guards were dragging Anne Barklay out of her cell on the outskirts of Fairstone, a low-slung set of barracks on the edge of the woods, more like wooden cages judging how small they were. The village proper was no more than a dozen or so sinister brown houses, one with a steeple and cross, chickens pecking about, pigs snorting in pens, people bustling, working, building more wooden houses, performing daily chores, getting water from the well, splashing it along in the dust, men in black broad-brimmed hats, women in white caps.