Page 9 of Atlas of Unknowable Things

“I’m just going to check that nothing is amiss,” she called over her shoulder. “I’m sure it’s fine, but I really should check. You’re welcome to come inside.”

I did so with some trepidation. Luckily, I hadn’t scrawled Robin wuz here on the wall or anything.

The cabana was lovely, decorated in rosewood and teak with island prints.

A plush bed took up the majority of the space, but there was also an alcove with an elegant sitting area and a mid-century writing desk.

In the back was a bathroom and a kitchenette.

The walls were dotted with tasteful artwork, and French doors led out into a small back garden.

Quickly I scanned the room. I didn’t really think Casimir would keep an ancient artifact in her own living quarters, but I knew so little about the woman that I didn’t want to rule anything out.

I still didn’t understand what a neuroscientist would be doing on an archaeological dig, or for that matter, why she would have been allowed to take the piece back to her own institution.

There had to be something more to the story, but it was hard to make any assumptions without knowing anything about the woman.

Something about one of the paintings caught my eye, and I moved to take a closer look.

It was a nature scene that showed a pair of cardinals perched on the edge of a fountain.

As I stared at their crimson plumage, I was reminded of the dream I’d had on the way to Hildegard, of that odd compulsion to find my bluebird.

I had no idea what it could mean, but it suddenly felt terribly urgent.

“Everything okay?” Lexi asked.

“Yes,” I said, startled. “It’s a lovely painting.”

“It was one of Dr. Casimir’s favorites.”

“Dorian told me about her,” I said, trying to seem casual. “She sounds like a fascinating woman.”

“Oh, she was—our most promising researcher,” she said, and again I sensed she was on the precipice of some intense emotion that she was trying very hard to suppress.

“I’m sorry she’ll not be continuing on. And even more sorry that she felt a need to leave without giving notice or the decency to let us know what she was thinking. ”

I craned my neck to get a better view of the garden patio. “I peeked in her office this morning and I noticed there isn’t much in there. I was wondering where her things are.”

“Why?” Lexi asked, blinking slowly.

“I was just thinking she might have left something behind in there, something that might give you a clue where she went.”

“Hmm, that’s a thought,” she said somewhat absently, but if I was hoping for an invitation to go search it, it seemed none was forthcoming.

We started to leave, but when Lexi reached the door, she stopped and looked at me, raising her eyebrows as if surprised by her own idea.

“You know, you’re welcome to take over this bungalow if you like.

There’s no reason you should be trapped up at the house when this is standing empty. Would that interest you?”

I tried to seem nonchalant, but I was already imagining prying up floorboards and digging in the garden for the artifact.

“That might be nice,” I said. “If it’s no trouble for you, that is.”

“Of course not. I’ll have your things brought down this afternoon.”

With the air of a petulant queen, Lexi started back down the brick path, and I followed, nodding enthusiastically as she pointed out several greenhouses, a hothouse, and a seemingly endless succession of fountains.

At one point I noticed a forest path marked with an ancient-looking sign that read TO OBSERVATORY, and I made a note to ask about it later.

The brick path eventually gave way to dirt as we wound through the grounds, the surrounding foliage growing denser and thicker.

As we were passing a stone statue of a peacock, something caught my eye.

In the distance, I could just make out a magisterial-looking building with a slate roof.

“What’s that over there?”

“Academic buildings. Classrooms mostly, though Dr. Jeon and I have our offices in there. You’ll meet him at lunch. We eat most of our meals together here. It’s the Hildegard way.”

We continued on until finally we descended a flight of flagstone steps into a beautiful garden area partially enclosed by a rustic wooden fence.

From an old-fashioned mint copper roof hung a hand-carved wooden sign that read APOTHECARY GARDEN.

Where the other gardens had been spaces of elaborate, even uninhibited beauty, this space spoke of structure and simplicity, of regimentation and precision, but most of all, it was a peaceful place, the kind of place where time tends to disappear.

Herbs grew plentifully in mathematically organized patches, and tools hung evenly spaced from trellises.

Almost immediately, we were greeted by the Black woman with the nose ring from Dorian’s photo—the one doing the flapper kick.

Diminutive, with an ebullient kind of beauty, she wore work clothes that still managed to make her look cool, like a celebrity dressing down in an effort to disguise herself.

Clipboard in hand, she stood over a row of tall plants topped with vibrant yellow flowers.

When she saw us, she set the clipboard down and approached with a transfixing smile.

“You must be Robin Quain.” She shook my hand. “Welcome.”

“Dr. Thomas is the director of horticulture here at the college.”

“Call me Aspen,” she said with a genial flick of her wrist. I noticed her charm bracelet jingle when she moved.

“I like your bracelet,” I said. “My friend has one just like it.”

“Thanks,” she said, toying absently with it.

“Would you like a cup of tea? I can brew some up in the garden house.” She tilted her chin toward a charming wooden structure that stood a hundred feet or so from the entrance to the garden.

Beyond that, the plants continued to stretch out in what seemed like infinite rows of greenness.

“Not right now, but I’d love to take you up on it sometime.”

“Well, welcome to Hildegard. If there’s anything in the way of botany or herbalism I can help you with, just let me know.”

“You don’t happen to know what sangdhuppe is, do you?”

Quick eyes darted around the garden as if she were performing an inventory of her realm. “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of it. Is it a plant?”

“I’m not sure, actually.”

She pursed her lips. “Nothing’s ringing a bell. Are you an herbalist?”

“No. I just have a section in my dissertation on folk remedies.”

“Interesting,” she said. “Feel free to come poke around down here whenever you need.”

Surveying the garden, I was immediately caught by the calculated delicacy with which the plants were laid out, the vibrant colors, and the fronds of green fanning like outstretched hands.

“I’ve read quite a bit about medical botany, but only as a historian, focusing mostly on the role it played for wisewomen and healers as it relates to the stigma of witchcraft.

Do you just grow them, or do you use them? ”

“Oh, we use them,” Aspen said. “We study the science behind their efficacy, or inefficacy if that proves to be the case. We’re particularly interested in antimicrobial properties of certain plants, especially when used in combination with other herbs.

And of course we’re focusing quite a bit of research on plants that boost immune function and pulmonary health.

At the institute we use them both medicinally and culinarily.

The first line of defense against disease is the food that you put in your body every day.

I always say, if you listen to your body, your cravings will tell you what it needs. ”

I thought about my fondness for cheap beer and fried pickles and wondered what my body was trying to tell me with that combination.

“Come on, there are a few specimens in particular I want to show you.”

The three of us wandered through the apothecary garden, Aspen pointing out plants like turmeric for inflammation, veronica for respiratory problems, and chrysanthemum, which she said could do wonders for a simple head cold and congestion.

We were starting toward a section filled with vibrant red blooms that reminded me of pineapples when a male voice called out for Lexi.

I turned to see the handsome Asian man from the photo—Finn apparently. He stood at the entrance to the garden, his posture stiff, almost as if he didn’t want to set foot inside the area. Although he was talking to Lexi, his gaze was fixed on me, and it wasn’t exactly friendly.

“Lexi, we’re setting up lunch in the glade now,” he called. “Did you want wine or cocktails?”

That struck me as odd. It was only eleven-thirty.

“Would you excuse me a moment,” Lexi said before clacking off toward the entrance in her high boots.

When she’d gone, a particularly beautiful bloom of purple flowers drew my attention.

“Aconite?” I asked.

“Hyacinth,” Aspen corrected. “But I have some aconite just over here.”

I followed her to a bed of similar-looking flowers, though they were a darker hue than the hyacinths.

“I’m actually researching aconite right now. That and angelica.”

“Interesting. I’m sure you know aconite’s other names, right? Monkshood and wolfsbane?”

I nodded. “So called because werewolves were said to use it to turn themselves back into human form.”

“Exactly. I prefer to call it monkshood, though, considering we’re on monastery land.”

“I never understood that. Why monkshood?”

“See the petals here,” she said, delicately holding them between her gloved finger and her thumb. “How this one droops down like that? They used to think that looked like a monk’s hood.”

“It’s an analgesic, right?”

“And a cardiac depressant, but in very small doses, and I’m talking infinitesimal.

It also contains an array of cardiotoxins and neurotoxins that can be absolutely lethal.

A strong dose of the alkaloids in it, especially from the root, could stop a person’s heart.

Every part of it is poisonous, in fact. People don’t realize, and they grow it all over the place.

It’s in gardens everywhere because, I mean, look at it.

It’s gorgeous.” She crossed her arms, and for some reason, even though we were completely alone, she lowered her voice.

“So you really study witches and werewolves?”

I nodded, confused by the need for secrecy. She almost seemed to be acting like what I did was somehow secret or taboo.

“What on earth led you to specialize in that?”

“It’s just where I ended up. Almost by accident, really.

I thought I wanted to study the agricultural economics of early modern England, but once I started digging into the discipline, I ended up with a passion for folklore and for where folk beliefs intersect with historical fact. And it led me here.”

Aspen held my gaze a moment. “There are no accidents, Robin,” she said, and then turned and continued on through the garden.