by Laura Ruby
“Trust me. I’ll be fine.”
Georgie bit her lip. “You should know that some old ladies have your pen. The pen.”
Told you, signed The Answer Hand.
“Yes,” The Professor said. “I know that. I’ve already spoken with them about that.”
“And I have your book,” Georgie said. She searched in her backpack and handed the leather-bound volume to the old man.
“Haven’t seen this in a long time,” said The Professor. “Thank you.”
“I hope you keep a better eye on the book than you did the pen,” Bug said.
“Sylvester!” Bunny Bloomington said. “That wasn’t a very nice thing to say.”
“But it’s a true thing,” said The Professor. “I promise not to let this get into the wrong hands.”
“Good,” said Bug, yawning widely. “Because I’m getting pretty tired of saving the city all the time.”
Bunny took a deep breath of the air that smelled of freesia, of spring, of everything. She smiled at Bug and then at Georgie. “It’s OK now, isn’t it? Everything’s OK.”
A nurse walked into the room carrying a lunch tray, almost dropping it when she saw the menagerie in front of her. “What do you think you’re doing?” she said. “There are no animals allowed in this hospital! And you’re only supposed to have two visitors at any one time!” She set the tray in front of Bug and wagged her finger at him. “You’re lucky to be alive!”
“Yes,” said Georgie, slipping her hand into Bug’s. “Yes, we are.”
The Chapter After the Last
Fussy
The pavement glistened as Mrs Vorona brushed the rain off the shoulders of her black coat and rapped softly on the library doors. It was midnight, warm enough for condensation to fog the glass and obscure the face of the man who opened the door.
“Hello, Mrs Vorona,” said the man.
“Good evening, Mr Fuss,” she replied.
“Lovely night. I always love rain in the springtime.”
“Hmmm,” Mrs Vorona said. That she didn’t care much for Mr Fuss was obvious in the expression of distaste and disapproval she wore. Not that Mr Fuss was interested in anyone’s approval.
The two didn’t bother with any more pleasantries. Mr Fuss led the way upstairs to the Arents Collection room. He pulled the volume on Cuban cigars and opened the secret passageway to the library’s basement vault. They chose to walk down the spiral staircase – Mr Fuss because he enjoyed walking, Mrs Vorona because she would have to change forms to fly and she didn’t want to drop what she was carrying.
They reached the basement. The stroll past the numerous shelves was slow and mostly silent, except for the soft, distant scrape of stone paws against concrete floor.
“Patience and Fortitude making the rounds,” Mr Fuss murmured.
“I know,” Mrs Vorona replied a bit too forcefully.
Mr Fuss merely smiled.
After a time, Mr Fuss and Mrs Vorona found themselves at the very end of the library’s basement vault, at the wall in which two heavy metal doors were set. Ignoring the door on the right, Mr Fuss grabbed the round handle of the door on the left and wrenched it open with one strong yank. Inside hung an ornate, wrought-iron lift.
“Almost looks like a birdcage, doesn’t it?” said Mr Fuss.
Mrs Vorona shot him a glare before opening the door of the lift and stepping inside. Mr Fuss joined her. He pressed a red button next to the door. The lift lurched and then began its slow descent. One minute, two minutes, three minutes passed. Mrs Vorona could hear the eerie howls of the subway cars careening through nearby tunnels.
The lift stopped. Mr Fuss unfastened the gate. Mrs Vorona stepped out into a vast cavern that appeared to have been chipped by hand out of the grey bedrock under the city. Underfoot lay a mosaic of tiles in shades of blue, grey and green. All around the cavern, medieval-looking wood and iron doors concealed storage rooms, labs and other areas about which Mrs Vorona could only guess. In the centre of the room was a still pool. A very tall man in a pin-striped suit stood beside the pool, feeding the koi – the large goldfish – who lived in it.
“Mr Knickerbocker,” said Mr Fuss. “Mrs Vorona is here.”
The man turned. He was grey as a grave. “Mrs Vorona. Good of you to come all the way down to see me.”
“Of course,” Mrs Vorona said.
“I think you have something for me.”
“Yes, I do.” Mrs Vorona reached into her black coat and pulled out the silver pen. This she handed to the man called Mr Knickerbocker. Behind Mrs Vorona, Mr Fuss frowned.
Mr Knickerbocker admired the pen. “You’ve witnessed its use?
“I’ve seen the result.”
Mr Knickerbocker said, “Thank you for bringing it to us. We wouldn’t want it to get into the wrong hands again.”
“Then perhaps you might consider destroying it,” Mrs Vorona said. “It’s too dangerous. Far too dangerous.”
Mr Knickerbocker tipped his head. “I’ll take that under advisement.”
Mrs Vorona gave a curt nod. “I’ll show myself out.”
“Mrs Vorona, we at the library really do appreciate your work.”
Mrs Vorona gave a curt nod.
“One more thing.”
Mrs Vorona looked back over her shoulder.
“I think you should let Mr Fuss take you.” Mr Knickerbocker hesitated, picking his words carefully. “Let’s just say that Patience and Fortitude aren’t the only guardians here at the library.”
Mr Fuss held the front door open for Mrs Vorona. “Thanks so much for stopping by,” he said in his relaxed and mild voice.
Mrs Vorona rolled her eyes and pushed past him. She was only outside for a moment before her body seemed to collapse in on itself, shrinking and morphing into the sleek black body of a crow. Mr Fuss watched without surprise as the crow launched itself into the air as if it couldn’t get away fast enough.
After Mrs Vorona had gone, Mr Fuss’s relaxed expression morphed into one of rage and confusion. He stormed back into the Arent Collection room, down the wrought-iron staircase and through the storage basement. The pen! The whole time the crows had had the pen? How was it possible? He stopped to kick one of the walls. Then he kicked it again. Patience, who was watching from the gloom, licked her lips. But then Mr Fuss stopped kicking the wall and made his way back to where his employer waited at the koi pond, his countenance back to its regular state of bland fussiness.
“There should be an easier way to get here,” said Mr Fuss fussily.
“If there were an easier way to get here, I’d have way too many visitors. And you know how I feel about visitors,” Mr Knickerbocker said.
“I remember what happened to the last one,” said Mr Fuss. He looked pointedly at the koi pond.
Deitrich Knickerbocker said nothing, silently watching his fish nibble at the flakes floating on the surface of the pond. Then he said: “You’re losing your touch, Mr Fuss.”
“Excuse me?” said Mr Fuss.
“Your touch. Your control. Your organisational skills, whatever you want to call them. You made a mess of things. I could call you The Chaos King.”
Mr Fuss drew himself up to his considerable height. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“No? I’m talking about a certain someone washed out into the East River.”
“That,” he said, “was entirely an accident.”
“That accident happened to be my brother.”
“It wasn’t my fault that he ran through the storm drain at high tide,” Mr Fuss whined.
Mr Knickerbocker shook his head. “You weren’t even aware that he didn’t have the pen.”
“He refused to answer any of my questions! He ran away!”
“And what about the Punk? And the vampires?”
Mr Fuss’s already cold blood ran colder. “Who?”
“The funniest part of it is that you had no idea you’d been double-crossed by your own people,” Deitrich Knickerbocker said.
“Or that they’d double-crossed each other. Mandelbrot went to see Hewitt Elder at the library. At first, he just wanted to be a famous artist, and then he decided if the pen was so special he should have it for himself. She, on the other hand, had other plans.”
“I don’t understand,” Mr Fuss said.
“Hewitt Elder had The Book of the Undead. She was the one who used it to bring all those things to life.”
“I don’t know about any of this,” said Mr Fuss.
“I told you not to go near the children. I told you they were not to be harmed. I even took a part-time position as a doorman to keep watch over Georgie Bloomington. Just in case you forgot your place and chaos ensued.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mr Fuss said stiffly.
Mr Knickerbocker sighed. “There’s a lot you don’t know.”
Out of the koi pond, a bluish-grey tentacle poked up through the water. Mr Fuss stared at it. “You don’t want to do this,” he stammered.
“Do what?” said Mr Knickerbocker.
The tentacle shot out of the water, grabbed Mr Fuss by the ankle, hung him upside down, and shook him. Out of his pocket fell his day planner. Mr Knickerbocker picked it up and began leafing through it as Mr Fuss was pulled into the koi pond. There was some violent thrashing and splashing. Then the water was still again.
Mr Knickerbocker was still leafing through the day planner when he felt a presence behind him. “Hello Professor,” he said, before turning around.
“Deitrich,” the man said. He was a small man with grass for hair. He held a mounted hand on a marble slab. An army of cats slinked around his legs.
“You found your cats, I see,” Mr Knickerbocker said.
“They found me.”
Mr Knickerbocker nodded. “As usual. You haven’t changed. Except for the hair.”
The Professor stared up at the other man’s iron-grey head. “I could say the same for you.” He reached down and let The Answer Hand pet one of the cats. “You should be more careful about the people you hire.”
“I know,” said Mr Knickerbocker. “I’m sorry. Once, he was the best.”
“The best what?”
Mr Knickerbocker closed the day planner. “I was only trying to keep some things contained. Make sure that all of the truly dangerous stuff was safe in the library. It’s my job. You know that.”
“My brother, the ever-important Library Director.”
“This city is crazy enough as it is,” Deitrich said. “And you know you have a tendency to lose things. Remember that time we were kids? And you made that wireless telephone? Whatever happened to that?”
“I don’t know. I dropped it somewhere,” The Professor muttered.
“Uh-huh. You know that someone found it and now almost everyone has one. And then the pen. And the book!”
“I have the book right here,” said The Professor, who patted his front pocket.
“That’s not the point. You can’t just go around inventing things and then throwing them to the wind.”
The Professor considered this. “Why not?”
His brother took a step back. “What do you mean, why not? Because it will cause absolute chaos, that’s why!”
“Deitrich,” said The Professor. “With or without me, this city is absolute chaos. Where else can you find Dominicans, Africans, models, Mongolians, hamsters and hipsters all living in the same place?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Think about it! It’s absurd! It’s absurd to live vertically in high-rises like beehives. It’s absurd to cram into trains underground and hop like fleas above it. A place where you might not be an international celebrity but you could have a cup of coffee right next to one. It’s impossible not to meet interesting people here. I know because I spent years trying to stay away from all of them, but I met them anyway.”
Deitrich Knickerbocker’s mouth dropped open. “What happened to you?”
The Answer Hand signed: Do you have a fever?
The Professor smiled, the first time in a long time, perhaps the first time in a hundred years. “I spent a lot of time stranded on a little island just off the coast of the city, a tiny island with nothing but some scrub brush and a few rocks. I learned something important there.”
“What?”
“Roast lizard tastes a bit like chicken.”
“And?”
“The city is chaos. Life is chaos. And isn’t that what makes it beautiful?”
Deitrich Knickerbocker didn’t speak for two full minutes, his mouth a round O of shock. Then his grave expression gave way to a smile, then to a chuckle, then to a great rolling burst of laughter. “You know, you might be right,” he said, tossing the day planner into the koi pond. “You just might be right.”
Also by Laura Ruby
In the Wall and the Wing stories
The Invisible Girl
For older readers:
Good Girls
Copyright
First published in paperback in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2007
HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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Copyright © Laura Ruby 2007
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins eBooks.
ePub edition June 2008 ISBN- 9780007281893
Laura Ruby reserves the right to be identified as the author of the work.
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