“That’s probably a good sign.” She laughed. “I bet you wouldn’t make someone stay up all night just in case something happens.”
“Is that what you’re doing tonight?” Kuro asked.
“Yup, night patrol in Summerhill this week. Easiest and boringest job on the island.”
“Is it because of the burglaries?” Kuro asked, imagining that they were using the servants as guards.
“Oh no, nothing so dramatic,” Sam said. “It’s just in case something terrible happens to a student in the night, like they get thirsty or need a snack or an extra blanket. You know, real emergencies.”
Kuro shook his head at how pampered the rich students were. Having asked one question about the thefts, however, he now had more. “Have the burglaries been much trouble for you guys?”
“Surprisingly not,” said Sam. “I mean, the Hounds sniffed around and stuff, but nobody suspects us.”
“Because you’re strays?” guessed Kuro.
“Nah. Wizards love to blame strays for stuff. It’s because we were busy. The burglaries always happen when all the staff are accounted for, like during meetings or meals. Every one of us is working and has others around to vouch for it.”
“So, whoever is doing it knows about your schedules,” concluded Kuro.
“It sure seems that way.”
They chatted about trivialities like blankets and breakfasts, the strangeness of wizards, and the greatness of cats the rest of the way up the long climb to the gates of Summerhill Residence. “Well, this is my stop,” said Sam. “Thanks for the company.”
“It was good,” said Kuro. Usually, Kuro’s trips to Dani were a way to escape people, but he had to admit that it was nice to spend time with someone with whom he had something in common, even if both vigorously avoided talking about their Detritus lives. Also, Sam had provided him with a better Solstice present for Arthur than even Dani had: a clue.
Despite a much more successful evening than he could have hoped for, Kuro couldn’t waste any time. He had a lot to do and only a couple days in which to do it. First was a stop by the old luminous slime mold cave.
He collected a good dollop of the gently glowing slime from the wall of the cave. He noticed that the cave saw regular use over the year, as even though some of the patches that had been scraped clean earlier were almost fully grown back, new spots had been cleared. It wasn’t surprising; it was a terribly useful substance.
The mold interacted with magical fields in a beneficial way. That made it a key ingredient in the lead-transmuting formula, as well as in the coating he’d have to make to get the gold through the veil. It was also used in some memory-affecting anaesthetics and mood-affecting tinctures like bliss and nostalgia, not to mention being a really good metal polish. It was lucky that Arthur had asked for his help collecting it; otherwise he wasn’t certain he’d have been able to find it.
Most of the rest of what he needed were standard supplies in the alchemy lab, but there were still a couple missing bits: carnivorous lichen and grave moss. Fortunately, they could both be found in the same place, in a way.
Kuro ran to the graveyard. He had planned to just leave a note for Bindal with a polite request, but fortunately the young lutin was there practicing his magic. “You are late,” he informed Kuro.
“Sorry,” Kuro replied instinctively. It wasn’t possible for Kuro to be late, as Bindal never offered any way of predicting his appearances, but Kuro wasn’t one to raise a fuss. “How are you doing?”
Bindal narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips at the query. Cake and time had made him more relaxed in the kuro monster’s company, but he was still wary so treated pleasantries and politeness with suspicion. “The magic is not working,” he said, ignoring the greeting. “Show me again. Teach better.”
Kuro showed Bindal the familiar summoning spell again, demonstrating the precise movements, rhythms, pronunciations. Naturally, it resulted in complete failure, but it was a slightly more dramatic failure than Bindal’s. At least something happened when Kuro cast the spell.
After a solid hour of earnest effort and endless failure, Kuro dared to broach his request to Bindal. “Would it be okay if I followed you to that island in the lake with the pogo?” he asked, choosing his words carefully to avoid the argument about whether Bindal had pulled Kuro along, or had been chased.
“Why?” Bindal demanded with the same suspicion he’d had toward the question about his well-being.
“I need some of the lichen from there for a Solstice present.”
“That is a bad present,” explained Bindal. “It eats people.”
“I know,” said Kuro. “I just need a little as an ingredient. I won’t feed anyone to it, I promise.”
The use of the word “promise” succeeded in changing Bindal’s attitude. It reminded him that Kuro couldn’t harm any lutin. Even if he was going to do something terrible, it wouldn’t be to Bindal or any of his kind. “Okay,” he said. “Follow.” And then he disappeared.
He was back a moment later, shaking a finger at Kuro. “I said follow.”
“I think I need to hang onto you for it to work,” said Kuro.
Bindal accepted Kuro’s hand on his shoulder and then in less than a blink, they were on a much smaller island in a much smaller lake. The sudden change in scenery was made all the more disorienting by the lack of motion. Neither he nor Bindal had done anything—they simply stopped being where they were and started being somewhere else.
Kuro shook clear the complaints of his rationality and got to work. He did not want to test Bindal’s patience and risk being stranded. He pulled a jar from his satchel that he’d prepared for the purpose, chased a stray bit of the hungry red lichen into it, and sealed the lid tightly. He reached out again and Bindal grudgingly accepted the brief contact needed to get them both back to the graveyard.
“Thanks so much,” said Kuro after taking a moment to get used to the sudden change in the ground beneath his feet.
Bindal also shuffled with discomfort, but more for cooperating with a monster than the firmness of the soil. “Do not tell anybody I helped you.”
“Of course,” Kuro agreed. “Solstice presents are secrets anyway.”
That comforted the lutin a little. “I am leaving now.”
“Wait!” Kuro shouted, hoping to catch him before he vanished. “I wanted to tell you I won’t be here for the holidays. So, I won’t be at the lutin feast or anything.”
“Me neither,” said Bindal.
“Why not?” asked Kuro.
“Promises,” he said glumly, and made no indication that he wanted to elaborate.
Kuro didn’t know what those promises might be, but he felt sorry for Bindal. The feast was one of his best memories from the previous year. He was sad to miss it. Though it wouldn’t be the same now that the lutin knew he was a monster.
The next few days passed in a flurry of urgent secrecy. Kuro snuck into the alchemy classroom at night to brew the coating for Marie’s gift and to make glue to hold presents closed. He scavenged papers for wrapping and card writing, all while still going to class.
Fortunately, the teachers had largely abandoned any effort to teach new material, so his in-class napping had little impact. Nobody had any interest in school before the holidays. The closest thing they got to education in their last couple of days was a talk about Solstice celebrations around the world from Mr. Widdershins, which was terribly helpful because it reminded Kuro that French Blandlanders call it Noël. It wouldn’t have been good to send a card talking about Solstice into the Blandlands for Marie.
He also felt, since Dani had been so generous by giving him presents for his friends, that she needed something too. She loved two things that Kuro knew of, and since he couldn’t give her a bird, he’d wrapped up the adventure book that he’d received from his social worker, Sabine, the year before.
It was near dawn on the day the ferry was due to depart before Kuro had finis
hed writing and wrapping and crafting. He had started the whole endeavour giddy about being able to give presents for the first time and ended it exhausted. He wondered if it was this much work for everyone.
He didn’t have time to bring his present to Dani before the boat left, so he had to gamble. He plucked up his courage and went to see the principal.
She was in her office elbow deep in paperwork, and yet she smiled at Kuro as he poked his head in the door. The holidays had a way of softening even the stoniest of people. Perhaps it was the fact that the source of most of her troubles, the students, would be gone for over a week.
“How can I help you, Kuro?” she asked.
“Are you going to see Dani the bird lady again before Solstice?”
She looked at Kuro as though he’d said something very silly but quickly regained her composure and returned to her normal stiff and unreadable expression. “Yes, I rather expect I will. Why do you ask?”
“Would you be able to give something to her for me?” Kuro felt very uncomfortable asking a favour of the principal. “Please?” he added.
“I’d be happy to,” she said.
Kuro had been so prepared for rejection that he almost left without passing over the gift.
Once the gift was in her hands, she gave it a grim look. “This feels like a book, and it looks to be wrapped in one of your old social studies reports.”
“Yes,” Kuro confirmed. “I didn’t have much fresh paper for wrapping.”
“Are you aware that it is not allowed to bring fey realm writings into the Blandlands?”
Kuro was shaken by the news. That meant his gift wouldn’t be delivered, and he’d committed several additional crimes in his Detritus days without knowing. “No, I was not,” he said.
The principal examined the package for some time. “Well, Dani is something of an exception. Perhaps with proper supervision, I could allow her to read it, so long as it isn’t kept out there.” She followed the statement with a conspiratorial wink that felt very out of character.
“Thank you,” said Kuro, confused at why she had just agreed to do something she’d told him was illegal moments before. Perhaps principals were like royalty—the law didn’t apply the same to them as it did to people like Kuro.
“It’s good that you’ve come, actually,” Ms. McCutcheon said as she pocketed the gift. “I’d made a gift for you before I learned you’d not be here for the holidays.” She picked up a white box with a red bow from a stack at the side of her office. “I wasn’t sure what to do with it, but there’s no sense wasting it.” She handed it over.
“Thank you,” he said again. It was the same as she’d given all the students who’d stayed on the island the year before, an enchanted box full of chocolate and candy. Kuro was tempted to open it right there, hand her the licorice witches, and gorge on taffy, but he had a promise to keep, and a sudden opportunity to keep it. He wouldn’t open the box, no matter how delicious the contents. He would give it to Bindal.
That, though, would have to wait. The ferry was leaving soon, and Kuro was certain he wouldn’t be able to find the lutin in time. He ran to the docks and was near the last to get there.
He was prevented from boarding, though, by Bella. She was waiting, impatiently, at the base of the boarding ramp for him. Kuro hadn’t even noticed her until she stepped into his path.
He slid to a halt at her feet and moved to run back the way he’d come.
“Hold on a sec,” she said.
It was a request rather than a demand, which was unusual for Bella. Kuro paused long enough to determine whether she was going to attack.
“So, remember how I gave your shoes back at Solstice last year?” she said.
“Yeah,” Kuro replied cautiously, uncertain where she was going with this conversation and not imagining it could be anywhere good.
“Well, Azalea is still upset about being burgled, and it would be great if she could get her stuff back. It would make her holiday a lot better.” Bella was careful not to blame Kuro or say that he could or should return the things that had been stolen, but the implication was clear.
Kuro remembered the relief he’d felt at the return of his running shoes. Getting them back had washed away any of the grudge he’d felt for Bella, and he hadn’t even cared that they were wet and full of dirt.
“I’m really sorry,” Kuro said. “I didn’t take them. I’d give her stuff back if I had it. I really would.”
“You mean that, don’t you?” she said. She tilted her head and squinted, as if looking at him from a different angle might turn him into a liar. “Curse it. Is it bad that I hoped it was you?”
Kuro shook his head. He understood.
She stepped out of his way to let him board. “Have a happy Solstice, Kuro,” she said as she moved to walk back to Summerhill Residence, where she’d be spending her Solstice break.
“You too,” he replied with the same solemn earnestness she had offered. Solstice was a complicated time for orphans. While he genuinely wished her a happy vacation, he knew that just wishing it wouldn’t make it easy.
He felt many eyes on him as he boarded the boat. The impatient passengers waiting for the last stragglers to climb the ramp before they could be free of the school for a few precious days. Those glares almost drowned out a much smaller feeling of being watched, which was coming from the wrong direction. Halfway up the ramp, Kuro noted a distant gaze settled on his back. He whipped around to find an empty lot, but the sense of being watched was unmistakable.
As he backed his way onto the boat, a small motion in the gardens caught his eye. A bit of grey and black fur was just visible through the daffodils.
Twenty-one
The Greatest of All Treasures
The trip across the bay felt incredibly long. Kuro had gifts to give and friendships to mend, but he couldn’t do that in the Blandlands. First, Charlie had explained to him that there were strict rules about Solstice gifts and not being allowed to open them until Solstice Day. He wasn’t about to make his friends get in trouble for breaking rules when he meant to be doing something nice. Also, Marie’s gift had to wait until the far shore, or she wouldn’t be able to get it out of the veil.
The method he knew for getting gold out to the Blandlands worked only once. If it weren’t for his magic bag, the whole plan would have fallen apart before he started. He could keep the package in his bag for the trip across the bay, then once they were back in the fey realm on the far shore, he could take it out and give it to her, and then she could take it to the Blandlands. The passing through the veil, though, would strip away the protective layers that he’d put around it, so it was a one-way trip.
Charlie filled the time on the boat by talking about all the things she and Kuro would do on her farm over the break. This did not particularly ease tensions. While Marie wouldn’t say it even if she could have gotten a word in, she was jealous of Kuro for going to the farm while she was going to the boring Blandlands.
Moira insisted on joining her brother for the journey home, as Azalea, the only other person who could tolerate her, was staying behind. Fortunately, Moira was too well raised to interrupt Charlie with accusations of Kuro’s criminal nature, so she instead spent the journey trying to drill a hole in Kuro’s head with her eyes. Kuro was glad magic didn’t work in the Blandlands or she might have succeeded.
At long last they plunged through the veil, out of the horrible cold of the Blandlands bay, and into the horrible cold of the fey realm. Kuro had skipped winter entirely the year before by staying on Avalon, where the seasons were stationary. He’d only been to the port at the beginning and end of the school year and had sort of imagined it to be permanently pleasant. It was not. The dock was full of impatient parents fighting against the cold with a combination of mittens and magic.
The hustle of disembarkation created a great opportunity to slip presents into the luggage of his companions. He didn’t know if it was necessary. He hadn’
t been told about his gifts the previous year, so he had to assume they were meant to be kept secret. Also, by sneaking them, he avoided having to deal directly with the strained moods of Arthur or Marie. There was a good possibility that they would have thanked him and been full of smiles, but then there was a chance that they wouldn’t. Kuro was exhausted from trying to get everything together in time and didn’t have the nerves left to face that.
A quick drop into a coat pocket as Charlie was jostled by a first year desperate to reach their family, an imperceptible tug on a backpack zipper as Marie fought to stay balanced on the ramp, and a simple sleight of hand as Arthur scanned the crowd for his parents, and Kuro’s gifts were delivered. He was pleased with himself. His skills at pickpocketing hadn’t diminished too much in his pampered life full of regular meals and warm beds.
He was rescued from any chance of being found out by Charlie’s impatience. She grabbed Kuro’s hand and hauled him toward her waiting father. He was the easiest person to find in the parking lot. Among the gilded sleds, enchanted sedans, and royal carriages, his rusting red pickup truck stood out clearly.
Her father was a broad man who wore denims and plaids like armour and had the kind of facial hair that took a dedicated lack of maintenance to achieve.
Charlie flung herself at him with reckless abandon, and to his credit, he was only knocked back a couple of steps by the enthusiastic hug.
Once he had managed to adequately greet his daughter and detangle himself from her, he turned to Kuro. “You’re staying with us this year, eh?”
“Yes, sir,” said Kuro, staring fixedly at the ground.
“Well, you’re gonna have to work for it,” he grumbled. “No idle hands on a farm.”
“Of course, sir.”
Charlie came to his rescue. “Gosh, Dad, stop it. Kuro doesn’t know how jokes work.”
That wasn’t true, Kuro thought. It was Arthur who didn’t understand jokes. Kuro just forgot he was allowed to laugh out loud sometimes. It wasn’t clear what the joke was supposed to be, though. It was quite reasonable to have to work for his room and board, and most of the things Charlie had talked about doing sounded a lot like work. Regardless, her dad boomed with laughter and clapped Kuro on the shoulder.
Volume 2: Burglary Page 21