As Daniel stepped into the water, Ellie followed close behind. The cold pond water sent a shiver up her spine as it rose to her waist. Daniel, being taller, had it easier with the water only reaching his lower thighs.
Laughter erupted from outside The Drowsy Duck, the onlookers clearly amused by their impromptu pond expedition. Ellie ignored them, concentrating on not disturbing the fish darting away from their intrusion.
“What are we looking for?” Ellie asked.
Daniel shrugged. “Didn’t think that far ahead.”
“Not top of the class, are you?” Ellie said. “Though I’m the idiot who followed you—” Her voice cut off as her foot struck something metal underwater. She bit back a yelp of pain like she’d just kicked a block of steel.
Daniel waded over in a flash, steadying her before reaching down into the murky water. He felt around for a moment, soaking his buttoned-up shirt all the way up to the bow tie. With a grunt, he pulled up a small metal chest, and together, they dragged it to the edge of the pond.
Ellie’s heart raced as she examined the chest. Another bell engraving adorned the top, just like the one she’d found on the destroyed memorial stone. A padlock hung from the latch, but as Ellie reached for it, it came loose in her hands.
“Forced open,” Daniel pointed out.
“Resourceful… brute force…” she muttered, prying up the metal lid. “We’re not the first, so best case, the manuscript is in there. Worst case?”
“A bomb?” he asked with a sheepish shrug.
“That would be pretty bad.”
Ellie flung back the lid, and any excitement curdled to disappointment as she found only a single beer mat from The Old Bell floating in the water trapped in the chest.
“Is that it?”
Daniel peered into the chest before plucking out the beer mat. He shook off the water and turned it over, but the other side was the same. The logo of The Old Bell. Ellie shone her torch into the chest, but the beer mat was the only occupant alongside a few snails.
“If Edmund wants us to go to The Old Bell, this is very literal,” she said, trying to make sense of it all. “It seems too... simple. The others had some degree of difficulty and this pond one stumped us all, but this is… a beer mat.”
Daniel chuckled. “You must never play role-playing games.”
“I never had the time to get into games. Always something I wanted to read instead.”
“Think about it like this,” Daniel explained, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm like he had when showing off his nan’s Edmund Blackwood signed first editions. “It’s like a knight slaying the dragon to get to the princess. You slayed the dragon by figuring out the riddle—for this particular quest, that was the hardest part. You ran up the steps of the impossibly high tower by wading into the pond. The princess isn’t then under key and chain. You weren’t supposed to get past the dragon.” He’d dropped to an impressed whisper, each word trembling out. “No, Edmund knew if anyone got this far, they’d been challenged enough. He’s playing a fair game.”
“That’s... actually a very good point.”
She looked at Daniel, suddenly aware of how drenched they both were, standing by the pond’s edge in the fading light. A wave of gratitude washed over her for his help and insight.
“Do you want to go and warm up by the fire?” she asked, taking the soggy beer mat from Daniel before kicking the lid of the chest shut. “I still owe you for the other night.”
“Aren’t we going to put it back?”
She considered it, but shook her head. “Who’d go to the trouble? If someone else gets this far, they deserve to know they got beat.”
“Also fair,” he said, snatching up his shopping bag as they made their way around the pond. “The chest must have been sealed air tight before they broke the padlock, so whoever found it first must have waded into the pond a few days ago, given that the thing hasn’t completely disintegrated. It seems strange that they went to the trouble of finding the beer mat and then put it back.”
Flapping the wet cardboard in her palm, she said, “I was just starting to think the same thing. Maybe they didn’t think it was important, or maybe they put it back after a visit to the pub. Let’s hope Sammy knows what’s going on.”
Ellie and Daniel stepped into The Old Bell, the warm air heavy with the scent of hearty pub fare. The din of conversation and clinking cutlery filled the bustling dining area. Ellie’s damp clothes clung uncomfortably to her lower half as she squelched her way to the bar where Sammy was pulling a pint with a smile.
“You must be Sammy,” Ellie said, sliding onto a barstool.
The woman’s eyes lit up with recognition. “And you must be Ellie. I’ve heard all about you. The Meadowling, back home at last.” She reached for a glass. “Welcome back. First pint’s on the house.”
“People keep giving me free stuff.”
“Don’t get used to it, mind,” a familiar voice chimed in. Ellie turned to see Anne seated at the end of the bar, nursing what looked like a gin and tonic. “Eventually, you’ll be wallpaper like the rest of us.”
Sammy shrugged good-naturedly, but Ellie knew what was behind the weariness in Anne’s eyes. And given her reference to ‘wallpaper’, James’s insults were still rattling around. Ellie wanted to conjure some words of encouragement, hating to see a writer down because of rejection letters, but that reassurance would have to wait.
She slapped the soggy beer mat on the bar between a couple of dry ones. The logo of the illustrated bell was the same but the font had changed from serif to sans serif since. Sammy’s eyes fixed on the mat, her cheerful demeanour faltering.
“That’s... that’s one of the old ones.”
“From about two years ago?” Ellie pressed.
Sammy’s gaze darted around the room, her smile wavering. After a moment’s hesitation, she gave a small nod.
Ellie leaned in closer to Sammy, her voice low and urgent. “I know you have the manuscript. Or you know something about it, but I can’t help but notice that this pub is next door to Blackwood House, which made this Edmund’s local.”
Sammy’s eyes widened, and she glanced around nervously before leaning in to whisper, “I can’t say anything until you say the password.”
“Password?” Ellie glanced at Daniel, the quest not finished throwing them twists after all. They should have inspected the outer casing of the chest for more engravings. “Last Draft? Blackwood?” She paused, then added with a hint of desperation, “Bibbity bobbity boo?”
Before Sammy could respond, Anne cleared her throat. “I’ll have a single malt Scotch, neat. Your best-aged bottle, if you don’t mind.” The words sounded strangely formal coming from Anne, as if they weren’t her own. Sammy let out a small squeak as a satisfied smile spread across her face. “I thought as much. That’s just what Edmund would have done. It’s not like he ever said much else in here.”
Sammy stared at Ellie, still clutching in that breath that was turning her pale complexion a worrying shade of purple. Suddenly, Ellie understood. Edmund and his rules—of course, he’d make it this complicated, and Sammy had emphasised ‘you’, giving her the answer minutes ago. She took a deep breath and repeated, “Single malt Scotch,” Sammy nodded, but still held her breath, “from your best-aged bottle?”
