The Weird in the Wilds

by Deb Caletti

  “Well, we better think quickly, because this is an emergency. Cruelty like that spreads like mold on a bun.”

  “Oh, it’s always so difficult to unravel the threads of evil, let alone in a hurry. Let me see. Aunty Freeze was cruelty, but more that cold and silent variety, and I do think—wait, Big. We’re here.”

  “When are we having lunch?” Jason whines. “I want salad.”

  The Beautiful Librarian rolls her eyes. “Ugh! I don’t know how you’re going to bear such selfishness,” she says to the children, who’ve finally caught up. “A terrifying new adventure is stressful enough without the headache of bad behavior with you.”

  The Beautiful Librarian turns the knob of the lighthouse door and they step inside. Henry can still hear Jason Scrum—A nice, big salad with lots of leaves—until she shuts the door behind them. For a moment, they huddle in this comfortable small room that has everything a person might need—charming paned windows that look out toward the sea, and a cozy reading chair, and a large bed with down-filled fluffy pillows. On the little stove there’s a kettle for warm tea, and in the pantry are tins of butter cookies. It’s the most snug and welcoming and cheerful hideaway you can imagine, but the children go quiet. It’s the kind of quiet you feel in an important place, a hush of respect, because they know what’s beyond that room.

  Henry has been here many times before, when he’s managed to sneak out and visit his grandfather. Henry and Jo and Pirate Girl and Apollo and Button have all been here together before, too—when they needed to turn Rocco from a naked lizard back into a boy, and when they attempted that unfortunate spell-breaking episode with Mr. Reese.

  But this is a place you could go hundreds and hundreds of times and still feel what the children do at that moment: a quiet excitement that starts at your toes, filling you like a balloon that almost lifts you right up off the ground. Because beyond that little square room is the most incredible and wondrous library you’ve ever seen—a library that swirls and rises up to the very top of that lighthouse, with books upon books upon glorious books. There are ancient books and new ones, musty sneezy books and crispy shiny ones. Books tiny enough to fit on a teaspoon, books large enough to sit on. Books about leathery crocodiles and the ancient Sahara desert and flashing comets and astonishing gondolas on the Venice canals.

  Astonishing Gondolas on the Venice Canals

  “Can we?” Jo whispers, her eyes wide. Henry knows exactly what she’s asking, and he knows exactly what the answer will be.

  “Can you? Of course! You must!” The Beautiful Librarian beams.

  So they take off running, because even in times of great emergency, you must revel in the astonishing beauty and power of books. The children dash up those curving stairs to the very top of the lighthouse library, their fingers running along beautiful spines and their noses sticking into pages to inhale the wonderful smell of them. Pirate Girl finds a volume about sailing ships, and Apollo finds a hardback about unexplored lands, and Henry finds a story about dragon slayers, and Jo finds a biography of Ada Lovelace, mathematician and the first computer programmer ever.

  Ada Lovelace, Mathematician and the First Computer Programmer Ever

  Of course, as you already know, it’s easy to get lost in a book, since in those pages you find delicious escape, and the noisiest, most exciting quiet, and fascinating facts. You can totally forget about mean parents and troublesome gerenuks and even great evil, and this is almost what happens. Henry and the others just begin to tumble headlong into the stories on their laps when The Beautiful Librarian—keeper of the knowledge, as Grandfather Every is keeper of the light—calls out.

  “Spells!” she commands.

  Hard as it is to do, they set down their books and dash back to the large curved table in the middle of the lighthouse. The Beautiful Librarian has a single volume laid out on the table, a small book with a leather cover and gold tipped onto the ends of each page. It’s open to a place near the beginning. The Beautiful Librarian taps a paragraph with her finger.

  “I think this is the one, Big. Actually, I’m sure of it. Do you recall Mrs. Ivy Sumac?”

  “Ugh, poisonous woman. Rather short, lived by the stream. Quite territorial.”

  “Just thinking of her makes my skin crawl,” The Beautiful Librarian says.

  “She had that run-in with Avar Slaven. Yes, yes. I think you’re right.”

  “He was the HRM of your time, right, Grandfather?” Henry asks. Avar Slaven. The name gives Henry the serious creeps even now, when he’s been long gone.

  “Indeed he was. And one day, Avar Slaven wandered into the forested area where Mrs. Sumac lived. She thought he was an intruder, there to take what was hers. And then she yelled, ‘Get away, you weirdo,’ and waved a banana threateningly.”

  “Not a banana, Big. Something much more dangerous. A flyswatter.”

  “Oh, that’s correct, my dear. Avar Slaven was outraged, and while he was a very, very evil man, I must say, her behavior was outrageous, since what she thought was hers really belonged to everyone. Still, right there on the spot, he turned her into a . . . What was it, darling? A chimpanzee? A donkey? My memory is sketchy,” Grandfather admits.

  “A Sparklemuffin,” The Beautiful Librarian says.

  Pirate Girl giggles.

  “A what?” Jo asks.

  “Sparklemuffin,” Apollo says. “An Australian spider with a red-and-blue-striped midsection. It does an unusual mating dance where it waves one leg around.”

  “Making it very, very—”

  “Weird,” Henry says, interrupting her.

  “Exactly,” The Beautiful Librarian says, and beams at him.

  “Weird like a gerenuk! Was Ivy Sumac cruel about love, too?” Jo asks.

  “Oh no. But she was cruel to people who were born somewhere else.”

  “Cruelty about being born somewhere else?” Henry can’t imagine it.

  “I know. It’s preposterous,” Grandfather says.

  “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard,” Pirate Girl says.

  “She was cruel if a person was born somewhere else, and she was even cruel if their parents were born somewhere else, or their grandparents, or their great-great-great-grandparents.”

  “Cruelty because your great-great-great-grandparents were born somewhere else?” It’s so ridiculous, Henry would laugh if cruelty were in any way funny, which it never is.

  “I know. It makes no sense whatsoever, of course. But people can find the oddest and most outlandish reasons to be cruel. Why, I once knew a boy who made fun of my large nose.”

  Many Others

  “You don’t have a very large nose,” Jo says. “Not compared to many others.”

  “Well, one could take all of the noses off all of our faces to measure, but I hardly see the point in that. Every face has a nose if it’s lucky, and everyone must be born somewhere, and if everyone were the same, why, we’d never tell each other apart! In fact—”

  “Big. Let’s stick to the story of Mrs. Ivy Sumac. After Avar Slaven turned her into a Sparklemuffin, you got that feeling, remember? The strong one that insisted you had to help even though Mrs. Sumac was a bully. It seemed like a fine idea, actually, for her to be a spider, since we should scream and run from people like that. Still, even though you did not yet understand why, you set out to help. This was the spell you used. And let me just say right here that I think your nose is quite handsome.”

  “Why, thank you, my darling,” Grandfather says, pleased, before perusing the spell. “Bizarro Crueltildo. Yes, yes. This is it. Oh, I hate to even tell them about this one.”

  “I know,” The Beautiful Librarian says. “This is awful news.”

  A terrible clunk of dread settles into Henry’s stomach. Jo has turned pale.

  “Apollo, my friend. Give those spectacl
es a whirl and read it for us,” Grandfather says. Pirate Girl looks nervously at Henry, who looks even more nervously at Jo. Apollo pushes his glasses up. He stares down at the important curls of cursive. He clears his throat.

  “‘Bizarro Crueltildo. Duration: somewhat permanent,’” Apollo reads. “‘Spell-breaking option number one. Accompany victim to a large gathering involving music, particularly stylish attire, and high spirits . . .’”

  “Well, that won’t work this time, will it, Big? I mean, the children aren’t old enough for a disco.”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Still. You should tell them the story. Do you remember—the twenty-first night of September?”

  “However could I forget?”

  “What’s a disco?” Pirate Girl asks.

  The Beautiful Librarian puts one finger to her lips to shush Pirate Girl in the most gentle way imaginable. “Go on, Big. Tell them what happened to Mrs. Sumac. Or rather, the very important thing that didn’t happen. Tell them the bad news.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The Bad News

  As the spell required,” Grandfather begins, “I took Ivy Sumac to a dancing establishment, popular at the time. But before I did that, I changed out of my captain’s uniform, and into particularly stylish attire.”

  “You must have been a sight, Big,” The Beautiful Librarian says.

  Particularly Stylish Attire

  “Powder blue was surprisingly flattering. Once I was dressed, well, if you read forward in this rather lengthy spell, you’ll see that the next aim is to seek an unexpected outcome among flickering lights.”

  “That doesn’t sound very dangerous,” Apollo says.

  “Precisely why I chose option one and not option two, which is utterly terrifying and immensely perilous. No one would want to choose option two. So, I shoved Mrs. Sumac right into my pocket and headed to the packed dancing establishment, where the music was as loud as a squalling baby with rhythm.”

  “Did something unexpected happen to Mrs. Sumac?” Jo asks.

  “Indeed it did. What I expected—well, to take a Sparklemuffin to a disco would no doubt bring on a great deal of pointing and laughing and ridicule. I was sure that both Mrs. Sumac and I would leave feeling abundantly humiliated. I set her on the floor, which was rather worrisome in itself, because there were quite a lot of glittery platform shoes, boogying madly around.”

  “Boogying?” Pirate Girl asks.

  “An old-fashioned word for dancing,” The Beautiful Librarian explains. “Go on, Big.”

  “Instead of the embarrassment that I was sure would be coming any minute, something extraordinary happened,” Grandfather says. “Mrs. Sumac, with her flashy blue-and-red midsection, did her one-legged mating dance. Suddenly, the crowd erupted into cheers. It was actually quite breathtaking, I must admit. The other dancers cleared the floor and gathered around to watch. And when she was finished, instead of jeers and taunts, everyone applauded.”

  “Wow,” Henry says. “Did Mrs. Sumac turn back into a bully right there?”

  “This is where the bad news comes in. The spell didn’t work.”

  “It didn’t?” Pirate Girl says, looking rather alarmed.

  “Why not?” Apollo asks.

  “I have no idea!” Grandfather says. “Admittedly, the lights were flashing, not exactly flickering, which might have been one problem. Somewhat permanent might have been another. Honestly, I didn’t investigate further.”

  “Because you moved right on to the terrifying option two?” Jo guesses.

  One of Those Times When You’re Sure That Nothing Good Can Come of This

  “No, not at all. Because Mrs. Sumac was happier than she’d been in years. The positive attention quite lifted her self-esteem. I’d forgotten something important: Music has its own timeless and ever-present magic. The matter seemed settled. I hardly gave it another thought. Until now. Until I suddenly realized what this means for you.”

  Henry also suddenly realizes what this means. It’s very bad news. It’s one of those times when you’re sure that nothing good can come of this.

  “If the spell didn’t work, we’re, uh, left with terrifying option two?” Henry says.

  “I’m afraid so,” Grandfather says, with a grim face. “Give the specs a second spin, Apollo, my boy.”

  Apollo’s voice quavers. “Well, there’s all this smudgy part after option one . . .”

  “Ah yes. That’s where I spilled my alluring cologne before the big night out. Never mind. That spell had a glitch anyway. Move along, right here, to two.” Grandfather points to the page.

  “‘Spell-breaking option two,’” Apollo reads, “‘to be attempted only in emergencies. Repeat: only in emergencies where option one is impossible!’” Apollo looks sick.

  “Go ahead,” The Beautiful Librarian says, giving an encouraging smile.

  “‘In a far corner of the world, walk the victim of Bizarro Crueltildo along the line between good and evil, falling to the side of good.’” Apollo stops.

  “Keep reading,” Pirate Girl says.

  “That’s all.”

  “That’s it?” Jo says.

  “Of course that’s not it,” Grandfather says.

  “But it doesn’t say anything else. What are we supposed to actually do?” Jo asks Captain Every.

  “A plan will present itself, and then you will—”

  “Follow it to great success,” Apollo says. “That’s what you told us with Rocco, but we followed it to great danger first!”

  “And what if we’re not successful?” Jo asks. “I hate to bring this up, but there was the embarrassing failure with Mr. Reese . . .”

  “Pfft,” Grandfather says, with a wave of his hand. “Irrelevant. A trivial spell. Five minutes, and no adventure involved, why would magic waste its precious talents on that? That spell was a shell with no nut, a case without a pillow, a body with no heart! And you certainly wouldn’t plumb the depths of disaster and scale the heights of joy and risk your lives for a single squirrel, now, would you? It’s not part of the larger story,” Grandfather says, waving his arm to indicate the rows and rows of books.

  “I guess I didn’t get the important feeling about Mr. Reese,” Pirate Girl says. “I just tried because we told him we would.”

  “Same here,” Apollo says.

  “But the line between good and evil . . . where is that?” Pirate Girl shivers.

  “Well, it could be any number of places,” The Beautiful Librarian says. “There are dividers everywhere in the province lately.”

  “And dividers are always dangerous . . . ,” Grandfather muses. “So perhaps some location where bad people are lurking behind every possible tree and lamppost.”

  “Bad people,” Henry whispers. “Needleman!” His horrible pointy nose and long, cold fingers flash before Henry’s eyes.

  “Vlad Luxor!” Pirate Girl says. “Let alone all his spies.”

  “The exact places we’re not supposed to go,” Jo says. “We’re in enough danger just walking to school. This is awful.”

  “And I can’t believe we have to do this all for that bully Jason Scrum, even if it is for some important reason we don’t understand yet,” Apollo says.

  “A duty is a duty,” Grandfather reminds.

  “That bully Jason Scrum,” Pirate Girl breathes, as if she just now remembered something important.

  “Exactly!” Jo rolls her eyes.

  “No. I mean, Jason Scrum,” Pirate Girl says.

  All at once, Henry understands what Pirate Girl is saying. He gets that stop-in-your-tracks panic, like when you realize that your little sister has been way too quiet with your box of crayons, or that your naughty puppy has been left alone with your tennis shoes. “Jason Scrum,” he says. “We haven’t heard him out there at all. An
d we’ve been in here for a very long time.”

  “Oh no . . . ,” Jo groans.

  Henry stands on his toes to look out the lighthouse window. And when he does, his stomach sinks. All he can see is the great wide ocean and the long stretching beach.

  “He’s gone,” Henry says.

  “Gone? He can’t be!” Apollo’s voice is shrill.

  “This is bad,” Pirate Girl says.

  “I can’t see him anywhere,” Henry reports.

  “Don’t panic, children,” Grandfather says.

  “Wait! The telescope.” In a flash, The Beautiful Librarian is holding it to her eye, looking left and then looking right. “Hmm. Three seagulls, four large waves, one clump of slimy kelp, and one rather impressive sand castle.”

  One Rather Impressive Sand Castle

  “No gerenuk?”

  “No gerenuk.”

  “Then, children,” Grandfather says, “it’s time to panic.”

  CHAPTER 10

  A Missing Bully

  He’s nowhere!” Henry says. They drop their bikes in the Circle of the Y after riding all the way back up, up the road from the lighthouse at top speed. Button is panting. Pirate Girl’s cheeks are red from the effort of pedaling against the wind. Now they can see practically all the way down the meadow road to town. There’s not a single gerenuk in sight.

  “If we can’t find him, there’s no way we can—” Pirate Girl lowers her voice. She doesn’t even dare say it—break the spell. Now that they’re back outside, they have to be careful, since Vlad Luxor’s spies seem to be everywhere lately. Just last summer, the spies stayed mostly on Rulers Mountain, but since Vlad has been going on and on about inners and outers and others and us, it’s like Vlad Luxor has lifted a giant rock, and all sorts of yucky things are wriggling out into the daylight.

  “Let’s think about this logically,” Apollo says quietly. His glasses have fogged from the steam of exertion, and it’s almost hard to see his eyes. “Gerenuks spend their days looking for food, and they are very picky eaters.”