The Adventures of Lettie Peppercorn Page 3

  Suddenly the Snow Merchant leaped forward, reaching out with his pipette. He put a drop of æther in her pipe before the Goggler could even draw breath. The smoldering mint leaf went out. Lettie tasted the æther in the air again. It made her head swirl.

  “What have you done to my pipe?” cried the Goggler.

  “I can allow no heat at all when I conduct my alchemy. That is why I am here: in the coldest room, in the draftiest inn, on the world’s windiest shore, in the depths of the deepest winter.”

  The clock chimed eleven.

  “And now,” he added, “the night is darkest.”

  “Show us this snow, then,” said the Walrus.

  “I must make it first,” the Snow Merchant replied, walking to his mahogany suitcase.

  The Suitcase Opens

  The Snow Merchant undid the straps on his suitcase and flicked the catches.

  “Stand well back!” he cried, his coat billowing about him, his eyes blue and electric.

  He lifted the lid and out it soared.

  The Walrus gasped.

  The Goggler rubbed her glasses.

  Lettie looked at the ceiling.

  “Is that . . . ?” she said to him, her breath catching. “Is that snow?”

  The Snow Merchant looked down his long, jagged nose at Lettie and laughed. “Is that snow?” he repeated mockingly. “Of course it’s not snow. Haven’t you ever seen a nimbostratus before?”

  Lettie hadn’t. Never in her life.

  Above the armchairs and the pianola there was a cloud. It swirled around the ceiling like it was desperate to escape. But Lettie had done her job well, and there were no gaps for it to squeeze through. The Snow Merchant wafted it away from the windows with his spoon.

  “Now you understand why I told you to plug all those drafty cracks,” said Snow Merchant. “It’s very good at escaping through those.”

  Lettie was speechless. She tried to move her mouth, but nothing came out. She tried to say “How?” She tried to say “What?”

  “Why,” she managed at last, “is there a . . . nimbostratus in my inn?”

  “It’s here because I let it out of my suitcase,” said the Snow Merchant. “And I let it out of my suitcase so I can make snow for my customer: you.”

  “But I don’t even know what snow is,” said Lettie. She pointed to the cloud. “And I certainly don’t want that.”

  “Of course you don’t. It’s just a nimbostratus. Just . . .” He searched for the right word. “. . . equipment.”

  “Are you an alchemist or a merchant?”

  “I’m both,” he said. “I sell what I make. And what I make is snow.”

  Lettie thought for a moment. “Alchemists use cauldrons, not clouds.”

  “Think of it as a giant pot.” He sounded pleased with himself. “A giant pot full of snow. But before that pot can overflow, we must all be cold enough. All of us.”

  He showed them his vial of æther.

  The Goggler’s huge eyes narrowed.

  “That,” she said, “is what ruined my pipe.”

  “Drink one drop and your fingers turn blue. Two drops, and your feet freeze the ground. Three drops lets me work with snow. I’ve never taken four. That would be dangerous.”

  The Snow Merchant rubbed his temples with his hands. Then he tipped back his head and opened his mouth. Lettie shivered: she thought he was about to scream. He raised his hand and squeezed one, two, three drops of æther onto his tongue. His whole body tensed inside his coat; blue nails dug into white palms.

  The drops were making him colder. Dirty frost formed around his boots, and icicles dripped from his nose. His eyes turned from light blue to electric blue to ultramarine.

  “Let the cold come,” he said through clenched teeth. “Let it settle deep.”

  “Are you all right, sir?” asked Lettie, biting her lip.

  “Of course I’m not!” he snapped. “I don’t enjoy the æther freezing my blood and shattering my bones, but I am the only one who can create snow. And to create it, I must be cold.”

  He raised his pipette at the guests. At Lettie.

  “And so must you. Open your mouths, please.”

  “I will not,” said the Goggler.

  “You just did,” said Lettie, not quite meaning to.

  “Don’t be facetious,” she answered back.

  “What’s facetious?” whispered Noah.

  “I think it’s Bohemian for ‘cheeky,’ ” murmured Lettie. “But I’m probably wrong.”

  “This is most unusual,” said the Walrus.

  “If you want to see snow,” the Snow Merchant explained crisply, “I must first make snow, and for me to make snow, the conditions must be right. And presently, the heat from each of you is ruining everything. Now . . . just a drop. It’s quite safe. Even if I emptied the whole bottle down your throat, you wouldn’t die.” He smiled icily. “You’d just never be warm again.”

  Lettie started to shiver and wondered what it would be like if she never stopped.

  The Snow Merchant continued: “I myself must take æther in order to handle snow: three drops, twice a day. You’ll feel a coldness, but in an hour or so that will leave. Just one drop . . .”

  There was a silence as everyone considered the choice before them, though for Lettie it wasn’t a choice at all. The mystery had got hold of her: What was snow? Why was she the customer? Where was this all going? She looked over to the Goggler and the Walrus and saw that the mystery had a hold on them too. Meeting an alchemist was a rare thing. Seeing alchemy with your own eyes was even rarer.

  Click! Click! went the false teeth of the old ladies as they opened their mouths.

  “Excellent,” said the Snow Merchant, giving them a drop each.

  Noah was next. Then Lettie, last in line. She stuck out her tongue like everyone else had done.

  The Snow Merchant squeezed the pipette and the æther fell.

  Lettie felt like a fire inside her had suddenly gone out. Numbness filled her mouth and spread down her neck. She shivered and stamped her feet but she could no longer feel her toes.

  “Your lips are blue,” the Walrus said.

  “So is your mustache,” said Lettie, and the Walrus frowned. “Noah, there’s an icicle on your stalk! And, look, you’ve even got a little icicle beard!”

  She tried to laugh but could only shiver. They huddled together under the nimbostratus, their breath coming in faint white plumes from their mouths, and they watched.

  The Snow Merchant took the bucket of grimy water and threw it into the cloud, which swallowed up every drop, rumbling greedily as it did so. He wafted the cloud into the middle of the room until it was above the rug, and then held up his big wooden spoon. He let a few drops of æther fall upon the end and began to stir the cloud with great, slow, circular movements that became faster and faster until the cloud was swirling, and the Snow Merchant was whirling underneath, and Lettie’s head was dizzy from the smell and the sound . . . and then, all of a sudden—

  Out of the cloud there fell a something.

  Four amazed pairs of eyes watched it fall: tiny and pure white, drifting onto the rug without a sound. The Snow Merchant stirred the cloud again and all at once there were hundreds—thousands—of tiny somethings tumbling from the cloud to the floor.

  “Lady and lady,” said the Snow Merchant in a flourish. “Boy and girl. I present to you: snow.”

  Lettie couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but watch the snow fall.

  “What are they?” the Goggler asked. She crawled over to the snow on the rug. Her scopical glasses had all their lenses flicked down and her eyes were huge. “Are they diamonds? They are! They are!”

  “More precious than diamonds,” said the Snow Merchant, his voice sinking to a whisper. “Each one tiny . . . unique . . . a treasure to behold.”

  Lettie was amazed and angry and afraid. There was more wealth lying on her rug now than was in the whole of Barter. Riches that Lettie would never have, e
ven if she was a landlady her whole life. He expected her to buy these diamonds, with nothing in her pocket?

  The Goggler began to babble very fast, sometimes in Bohemian. Lettie could just make out the words: “I must have snow!” And: “With snow I will make the greatest jewelry the world has ever seen!”

  “I will wear it!” announced the Walrus. “Jewelry studded with snow!”

  It seemed they had both forgotten about the chandelier earrings. Here was something more incredible by far.

  “I will be the greatest jeweler in all the world!”

  “I will look magnificent! They will finally make me a duchess! The most elegant duchess in all Laplönd!”

  But the Snow Merchant shook his head. “You are not my customers.”

  The Walrus laughed. “But we are rich!”

  The Snow Merchant shrugged. “Normally your riches would be of interest to me. But Lettie Peppercorn is the only customer here that I will sell to.”

  Lettie looked at all the snow diamonds, a gleaming pile on the rug, and wondered how that could possibly be.

  “Name your price,” insisted the Goggler.

  “I don’t have one. Not for you.”

  The Goggler held up her long, bony fingers. “Look!” she cried. “Forty-nine gold rings, all from continental weddings that were called off!”

  The Snow Merchant didn’t even glance at them. His blue eyes were fixed on Lettie, and only her.

  And still the snow fell.

  And still the snow fell.

  “Look!” said the Walrus, pulling a little hysterically at her fat, hairy ears. “Chandelier earrings! Priceless crystal! You can’t refuse.”

  “I can,” said the Snow Merchant. He turned to Lettie: “Go on, girl. Take them.”

  Lettie gulped.

  He gestured to the drift of snow on the floor. “A pile of tiny, perfect diamonds.”

  Lettie didn’t move, scarcely believing what he was saying. Leaning toward her, he whispered, as if he were sharing a secret: “They’re yours.”

  Lettie looked at the diamonds of snow on the floor, seeing in her mind’s eye the future they promised: a future with no more debts, no more bailiffs, no more rude guests . . .

  “But, sir,” Lettie said, her voice small, “I’ve got nothing to pay you with.”

  “It’s a gift,” he said.

  It sounded too good to be true. A miracle. Only—and this was the only thing—the Snow Merchant didn’t look like an angel. He looked crafty and devious.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

  “I told you,” he said cryptically. “I know a customer when I see one.”

  He was hiding something, she was sure, but his eyes were frozen and Lettie could not see past the ice. A fortune, in exchange for nothing? Fumbling with her apron, she tried to make sense of it.

  In the end, she gave up.

  “All right, Mr. Merchant, I’ll take your snow, thank you.”

  With a low bow, the Snow Merchant began wafting his snow cloud back into the mahogany suitcase. He left the snow diamonds on the rug.

  “It was a pleasure doing business with you,” he said.

  “It was hardly business at all,” said Noah, mystified.

  “Thank you,” Lettie repeated, beaming her biggest smile. “Thank you!”

  Realization was rushing through her: on the rug was a miracle, and it belonged to her. Now everything would be different. Better.

  She suddenly noticed everyone was staring at her, waiting to see what would happen next. It was a strange sensation—Lettie was used to being told what to do. She felt a little awkward.

  “What are you all looking at?” she demanded.

  “You!” said Noah. “You’re richer than an Albion princess, after all.”

  “Albion doesn’t have a princess,” said Lettie.

  “It does now,” said the Walrus bitterly.

  Noah grinned. “How does it feel to be rich?”

  Lettie thought for a moment. “It feels cold.”

  “Then we’ll warm up!” said Noah. “Let’s sweat this æther out of our systems, any way we can!”

  “Warming up will be easy,” said Lettie. “I brew a good cup of tea!”

  She began to laugh. She laughed and laughed for the first time that day, and Noah laughed with her. Even the Snow Merchant joined in, although it sounded hollow. Like pennies rattling in a jar. He smiled but his eyes stayed cold.

  The Walrus and the Goggler didn’t smile, didn’t laugh, didn’t blink. The chandelier earrings seemed worthless now. They muttered to each other and they looked at the snow. They looked at the snow.

  Lettie Peppercorn Brews Tea

  Lettie went to the kitchen to make the brews. The Goggler and Noah followed her to the door. Noah was there to help. The Goggler was there to haggle.

  “Three!” she cried.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Two then!”

  “I said no.”

  “You won’t miss two tiny handfuls of snow!” said the Goggler, her eyes as big as a puppy’s.

  “I’ll haggle later,” said Lettie. “I’m busy now.”

  The Goggler’s eyes narrowed. “I’m trying to offer you a deal.”

  “Well, I’m trying to make the tea, and you’re not helping.” Lettie lit the stove and put the water on to boil. She sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted. “What is it you want?”

  “One handful!” the Goggler declared. “My final offer!”

  “I meant, what do you want in your tea?” said Lettie.

  The Goggler scowled and muttered something in Bohemian. “Peppermint,” she said. “And don’t forget the rum.” The inn wobbled a little on its stilts as she stamped all the way back to her armchair.

  “Her temper could bring the whole house down,” said Noah.

  “And she didn’t even say please,” said Lettie with a scowl.

  “Are you sure you want to leave her in there with all your snow?”

  “Oh, forget about her, Noah. She can’t do anything with the Snow Merchant still there. Let’s make tea! That’s what we need!”

  Bounding over to the tea jar, she popped off the lid. It was empty. She showed it to Noah despairingly.

  “Try this,” he replied, and she looked on in amazement as fresh tea leaves unfurled from his stalk. He picked them and handed them to Lettie. “It’ll kick the cold out of us.”

  Lettie looked at the leaves in her hands. “But that’s incredible!” she said. “Noah, that’s . . . well, it’s just stupendous!”

  “If you want more, just ask,” Noah said. His flower blushed red, and he quickly turned away to hide the petals.

  So they made tea, and Lettie gave her orders:

  “Line up the mugs, please!”

  “Turn on the stove!”

  “Don’t spill the milk!”

  Noah did everything with a half-smile on his face, even when she told him off for letting his icicle beard drip into the cups.

  “Do you really have to defrost everywhere?” she said, only half cross.

  “You are too,” Noah laughed.

  “That’s true.” Lettie’s nose was dripping, her bones were aching and she could feel the æther seeping out of her toes.

  Just then Periwinkle came back through the window, the note and the shillings gone. Da had her message and his money.

  “Bring Periwinkle down here would you, Noah? He needs his dinner.”

  Noah looked at Peri for a bit. Then he said, “This bird must be important to you, seeing as you can’t leave the house.”

  Lettie stared at the water boiling in the pan, feeling a spike of shame. “How do you know that?”

  Noah stroked Peri’s feathers. “I read the note from your ma,” he said simply.

  There was a silence. Lettie searched for something to fill it with.

  “Careful with Peri,” she said suddenly. “Sometimes he pecks.”

  Noah picked him up, gasping. “And he weighs a ton.”

  “H
e does not!” Lettie flared.

  “He does,” said Noah, eyes bright. “Maybe you overfeed him.”

  “I feed him just right, thank you very much,” she huffed.

  “Only teasing,” said Noah. “Sorry.”

  Lettie knew from his eyes and his smile that Noah had just been joking with her. But she wasn’t good with jokes. She got angry and, before she knew it, she’d said something or thrown something that she shouldn’t have.

  “He’s sick, if you must know,” she said, trying to keep her temper. “Can’t you tell?”

  Reaching for Periwinkle, she put him by a dish of carrot peel, where he began to peck slowly at his dinner. “His beak is cracked, his feathers are gray, and he can’t move his feet. Soon he’ll be too heavy to fly.”

  She stirred the mugs and fished out Noah’s leaves.

  “What’s wrong with him?” he asked gently.

  “He’s petrifying,” said Lettie. “That means he’s turning into stone. See how gray he is?”

  Noah nodded. “Why?”

  “Well,” said Lettie. “My ma was an alchemist, and Da says that she made Periwinkle from a pebble she found on the beach. She plopped the pebble in her cauldron, threw in some alchemicals, and pulled out a pigeon.”

  Noah’s eyes shone. “I thought that alchemists were just interested in selfish things, like making gold from lead. But making life? That’s even more amazing than diamonds falling from a cloud.”

  “Well,” said Lettie. “Now the alchemicals are wearing off.”

  “Just like the æther.”

  “That’s right,” said Lettie. “No alchemy works forever. You can change something but, sooner or later, the time comes when it changes back. And that’s what’s happening with Periwinkle.” She turned to the pigeon. “Don’t worry, Peri. Even if you turn back to stone you’ll still be my joint best friend.”

  “Joint best friend?” said Noah, a smile on his lips. “Periwinkle and who?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me,” said Lettie defensively. “My other friend isn’t a person, either.”

  “Who is it then?” said Noah.

  “The Wind.”

  Another child—a child from Barter—might have sniggered. But Noah had a plant growing out from his shoulder, so to him it didn’t seem so strange that Lettie was friends with the Wind. He shrugged, then his eyes went wide.