Alice Wanderlynn's Arc

Chapter 1 of 4

Alice Wanderlynn had asked six people about the music box, and six people had lied. She stood on the cobblestone path outside the teal cottage with her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. The old woman inside had been the last name on her list. If the guardian of Thornwick kept sleeping, the raiders at the northern border would reach the town by the next full moon. The music box was the only thing that could wake him. Alice had come home three days ago to help. She had not expected the whole town to go quiet at the question. She knocked. The old woman opened the door and looked at the sword before she looked at Alice's face. That was answer enough. Alice smiled anyway, because friendly questions worked better than sharp ones. She asked about the music box. The old woman said she had never seen it. Alice watched her hands. They stayed folded. Alice thanked her and walked back down the path. Six liars meant someone was paying them, or someone had scared them. Alice did not have time to break either. She turned toward the tavern at the end of the lane, where travelers came through who owed the town nothing. Inside, the room smelled of smoke and wet wool. Four cracked leather stools sat empty at the bar. Alice took the end one and ordered nothing. She listened for twenty minutes. A trader complained about the road. A boy dropped a plate. Then a hooded man at the far end of the bar spoke quietly to the keeper about a cluster of purple crystals he had seen for sale two towns over, on a shelf beside a small painted box that played a tune when you opened it. Alice slid off the stool. She did not confront him. She followed him out. He walked a straight path to a shuttered shop, unlocked the back door, and stepped inside. Through the window, Alice saw a dark bookshelf crowded with old books and figurines. On the middle shelf sat a red lacquered box. Beside it, a chunk of amethyst threw purple light across the spines. She waited until he left. Then she picked the lock with the tip of her knife. The box was there. She lifted the lid. The inside was empty. No mechanism. No key slot. A hollow. A folded paper sat where the workings should have been. Alice opened it. A single line, in a hand she did not know: The workings were taken north. Ask at the tower. Alice knew one tower north of Thornwick. Everyone did. It stood in a clearing, covered in runes, and no one who went there came back the same. She folded the paper into her sleeve and shut the empty box. She had her trail. It led somewhere worse.