Polly Shulman

by The Grimm Legacy (v5)

  “Are you all right?” A man stood over me, holding out his hand. He pulled me to my feet.

  “I’m so sorry!” I said, brushing off snow. “I’m okay—did I hurt you?”

  He smiled, a crooked smile amid a neatly trimmed little beard. “No, no, I’m fine. You were in quite a hurry.” He bent over to pick up the envelopes and packages we had dropped, and I recognized him—he was the creepy little man from the Main Exam Room who liked to stare at Anjali.

  “Yes, I—” I looked around for the bird, or birds. No sign of either one. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  “No harm done.”

  “Is that my package?” I asked. He was carrying several largish packages like the one Mr. Mauskopf had given me, wrapped in brown paper.

  “No, I don’t think so—but I do seem to have one or two too many.”

  “Mine was addressed to Dr. Rust at the New-York Circulating Material Repository,” I said.

  “Well! Isn’t that a strange coincidence! I was just on my way there myself.” He showed me one of his packages, addressed to Dr. Rust. “I thought you looked familiar. You’re one of the pages, aren’t you? I’ve seen you in the repository. I can take your package along to Dr. Rust with mine.”

  “No!” It came out panicky and rude. “No, thank you, that’s okay. I need to take it to Dr. Rust myself.”

  “It’s no trouble, and it’ll get there faster. I’m on my way to the repository right now. I assure you, it will be safer with me.” He hesitated. “Tell me, do you work in the Grimm Collection?”

  “What? Why do you want to know that?”

  “Ah, you do. Don’t worry, you’re not spilling any secrets. I know all about the collection,” he said reassuringly.

  “I still need my package,” I said.

  “Yes. Well. About that . . . I don’t mean to frighten you, but there have been some thefts of Grimm items. Some members have reported a—well, a large flying creature—menacing them or even snatching items out of their hands. And I think we both saw what was following you.”

  “You saw the bird!” I said, shivering. “Is it gone now?”

  “For now, yes. But I really think you’ll be safer if you let me take charge of your package. You may have something that the creature is after.”

  “Why wouldn’t it just follow you then?”

  He smiled. “It might. But I’m older and more experienced with . . . well, with these sorts of situations. I can take care of myself. And I would feel really terrible if anything happened to you.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “It’s nice of you. But I just can’t. I promised I would take the package to Dr. Rust himself. Can I have it back, please?”

  He shrugged. “Here you go, then.” He handed me one of the packages. Like the one Mr. Mauskopf had given me, it had Dr. Rust’s name in brown ink on the wrapping and was tied with string. But something wasn’t quite right. I sniffed it. It smelled like wet brown paper . . . and firecrackers . . . and skunk cabbage . . . Like magic, but the wrong magic.

  “This isn’t it,” I said.

  “Of course it is.”

  “No, you must have gotten them mixed up. Mine is that one.” I pointed to the package under his arm.

  “No, this one’s mine,” he insisted.

  “Let me see it.” I took hold of it with both hands. He hung on as I pulled it toward my chest. The top button of my coat, the button Anjali had sewn on for me, pressed against his hand as he grabbed for the package.

  The man’s fingers uncurled slowly, trembling a little, as if against his will. He snarled. For a moment I had the awful feeling he was about to . . . I don’t know, attack me somehow.

  Then he pulled himself together. He picked up the package he’d tried to give me. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was just trying to protect you. But I can see you’re a stubborn young lady. Brave too. Be careful. I hope you can keep yourself safe.” And he strode away through the snow.

  I locked my bedroom door when I got home and put the package on my desk. I couldn’t shake the creepy feeling the encounter had given me. I looked the package over. The snow had smudged the brown ink on the brown paper wrapper, but I could still recognize Mr. Mauskopf’s handwriting. It was his, wasn’t it? I hadn’t been mistaken and taken the wrong package? I sniffed at it. It smelled magical to me, with summery magic: a little piney, a little salty, carnations. But the other package had clearly been magical too. Maybe I should open it and see what is inside, I thought.

  No sooner had the thought occurred to me than a passionate desire to do it swept over me. I knew it was foolish. What would be the point? I had no idea what was in Mr. Mauskopf’s package, so opening this one wouldn’t tell me if this was the right one. I would break my promise for nothing. But my curiosity was so strong I could hardly bear it. What if I just opened a corner and peeked in? Almost against my will, my fingers crept toward it.

  “Stop it, Elizabeth!” I said out loud. I locked the package in my desk drawer, slammed my mind shut, and concentrated on French irregular verbs.

  The next day at the repository I tapped on Dr. Rust’s open door.

  “Do you have a moment? Mr. Mauskopf asked me to bring you this.”

  “Excellent, thank you.” Doc turned it over and looked at the blurred address and the wrinkled wrapping. “You didn’t open it, did you?”

  “No,” I said, feeling obscurely guilty, as if I had. “I dropped it, though. In the snow. I hope it didn’t get damaged. I had a hard time getting it here—I wanted to talk to you about that.”

  “That’s to be expected.” Doc took out a paper knife—it looked like a small dagger—and slit the wrappings. Inside was a plain wooden box. “Let’s take a look first, shall we?”

  I craned forward. Doc lifted the lid, revealing a stack of paper dolls. Before my startled eyes, layer after layer sprang to life, puffing into three dimensions and leaping out of the box. They threw themselves into the most beguiling acrobatics, dancing around the room like Doc’s freckles on fast-forward.

  A pair of the acrobats balanced a pencil across the stapler and used it as a seesaw, catapulting each other into the air. Another pair shimmied up the desk lamp and cannonballed into the water carafe below. A third pair unrolled tape from the tape dispenser and stuck the other end to the desk lamp. They held both ends of the tape tight while half a dozen of their friends took turns cavorting across in a series of leaps, flips, and cartwheels, like gymnasts on a balance beam.

  “I see you were telling the truth,” said Doc.

  “I was. But how can you tell?”

  Doc smiled. “Try to get them back in the box.”

  “All right.” I turned to the little people. “Enough, now. Back in the box with you,” I told them.

  Ignoring me, they lined up to dance the Virginia reel.

  “Come on, now. Back in the box!” I held it open near them, as invitingly as I could.

  Still ignoring me, they began prancing up and down the desk.

  Quickly, before they could get away, I picked up the head couple and put them gently in the box. But the lid wouldn’t close—their heads were too thick. I had to let go and try to pick up another pair. But they wouldn’t let me catch them at all. They joined hands and skipped just out of my reach.

  “I give up,” I said at last.

  “Feisty little critters, aren’t they?” Doc took a thin stick out of a drawer and tapped the dancers with it one by one. As soon as the stick touched them, they lost their girth and fluttered down to the desk, paper thin again. Doc stacked them in the box and snapped the catch shut.

  What a good thing I hadn’t opened the box! Or let the man with the beard take it. “Dr. Rust? Did a man bring you a package yesterday that looked just like this one?” I asked.

  “I was out yesterday, but I did get some packages—I often do. One or two of them might have been wrapped like this one. Why?”

  “I ran into a man on the way home from school yesterday when I was carrying thi
s package. Literally ran into him. I dropped the package, and he tried to take it. He said he was on his way to give you some other packages just like this. When I told him to give it back, he said he was a repository member and it would be safer for me to let him give you the package. He tried to switch them, but I wouldn’t let him.”

  “That was the right decision.”

  “But there actually was a flying creature following me. We saw it a few days ago too—me and Anjali and Marc and Aaron. Did Ms. Callender tell you?”

  Doc nodded. “Yes, she did. That’s very serious! Did the man tell you his name?”

  I shook my head.

  “What did he look like?”

  “Short, with a beard. I’ve seen him in the Main Exam Room.”

  “Will you come and find me if you see him again?”

  “Of course. Why do you think he wanted my package so badly? Do you think he’s the guy who’s stealing things from the Grimm Collection?”

  “I wish I knew. But right now I’m more concerned about the creature. Can you describe it?”

  “It definitely looked like an enormous bird. It was bigger than me and it came flying right at me. But then another huge bird—or something, I couldn’t see too clearly—showed up and then I bumped into the guy with the beard, and then the bird or birds were both gone. Do you think the man was right—were they after the package? Would they have hurt me?”

  “I’m very glad they didn’t, at any rate. Probably the man was right and they were after the package.”

  “But what were they?”

  “The bird sounds like the one we’ve heard about before. This is the first I’ve heard of the other creature, though. Was this the first time you saw them?”

  “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen the bird before—through the skylight in Preservation and through Anjali’s window.”

  “What did Stan Mauskopf have to say—did you tell him?”

  “Just that I thought I had seen the bird—but that was before it chased me and I got a better look and the stuff happened with the package.”

  “Did Stan give you a charm or a ward or anything?”

  “No . . . well, yes, I almost forgot; he gave me a feather.”

  Doc’s face brightened. “Good—that’s just the thing. Make sure you keep it with you. I’m sorry about all this. I knew it would be challenging for you to bring me the acrobats, but I had no idea it would be dangerous too. You can be proud of yourself. You’ve passed a harder test than we intended.”

  “What do you mean? What test?”

  “For borrowing privileges.”

  “You don’t mean—the Grimm Collection?”

  Doc nodded. “Stan asked you to bring me the dancers to see whether you’re responsible enough to be trusted to take care of Grimm items outside the repository. Clearly the answer is yes.”

  “You mean it? I can borrow things now? Magic things?”

  “Yes. Whenever you feel ready.”

  “Can I take out anything I like? Even, like, I don’t know—a genie bottle?”

  Doc smiled. “I wouldn’t go straight for the genie bottles right away. The Grimm objects can be pretty tricky. Best to start with something small.”

  “All right. Thank you!” This was so exciting!

  “Meanwhile,” said Doc, “given the recent thefts and that bird, I’ll be changing the door codes and the procedures. Librarians have master keys, but you pages will need two keys to get in, yours and another page’s—Anjali, Aaron, or Marc—as well as the key song. You’ll have to go down there in pairs so you can keep an eye on each other. Never lend your key to anyone, and let me know if anyone asks to borrow it.”

  “I will. I’ll do everything I can to keep the collection safe,” I said fervently.

  I hoped I could keep myself safe too.

  Chapter 12:

  An invisible armchair

  I was excited the next day when Ms. Callender sent me to work in the Grimm Collection with Aaron.

  “What will we be doing there?” I asked. “Running slips?”

  “Yes, if you get any. I mostly just want someone down there keeping an eye on things. Until we catch the thief, at least we can try to make things harder for them by guarding the collection.”

  Aaron was at the door when I arrived. He looked different in the bright, fluorescent light. I realized I had only spent time with him in the half darkness on Stack 2. He was surprisingly normal-looking without all the dramatic shadows. Handsome, even—I made myself do him the justice of admitting it. He had pronounced, chiseled features, like a prince in a fairy tale. High cheekbones, a single dark curl tumbling gracefully over an upright forehead, and a cleft chin. “There you are,” he said. “Where’ve you been? I can’t get in without both keys.”

  “Sorry I kept you waiting!” I held my binder clip against the door and sang, as softly as I could. I didn’t want to risk any sarcastic comments about my singing voice.

  “Louder,” said Aaron. “They’ll never hear you in the back of the house.”

  The lock didn’t mind; it clicked open.

  “That was the point,” I said. “I was trying not to hurt everybody’s ears.”

  “Why? You didn’t sound so bad, at least the part I could hear.”

  “Um, thanks.”

  I held the door for Aaron and followed him into the Grimm Collection. There were two chairs by the pneum station: an armchair carved elaborately from dark wood with a velvet seat and back and a standard-issue gray metal folding chair. I hesitated. The armchair looked more comfortable, but it also looked old enough to be part of the collection. Perhaps the folding chair was safer?

  While I was deliberating, Aaron sat down in the armchair.

  I unfolded the folding chair and sat down myself. I took off my sweater too and draped it over the back.

  Aaron took out a book.

  “What are you reading?” I asked.

  “H. G. Wells. The War of the Worlds.”

  “Any good?”

  “So far.” He leaned back in the chair and stretched out his legs.

  “You look comfy. What is that chair? Is it part of the collection?” I asked.

  Aaron looked up from his book and grinned. “Naturally. It’s in here, isn’t it?”

  “So it’s magic? What does it do?”

  “It’s amazing. When I lower my weight onto it, it magically causes my butt not to hit the ground.”

  “Uh-huh. Unlike every other chair in the universe.”

  “Yes, but this one does it so much better,” he said. “Even better than that one over there.” He pointed to the blank wall on the other side of the pneum station.

  “Where? I don’t see any chair,” I said.

  “Well, you wouldn’t, would you? It’s invisible,” said Aaron. He got up and walked over to the wall where he’d been pointing, then lowered himself until his knees were bent at a right angle.

  “You’re faking it,” I said.

  “Whatever you say.” He crossed his legs and opened his book. If he really was miming, he must have very strong legs.

  I walked over and inspected him. His legs seemed steady. “How long can you go on sitting that way?” I asked.

  “As long as you want, unless we have to run a call slip or something. It’s a comfortable chair,” said Aaron. “Want to try it?” He got up and stepped aside, as if he were offering me his chair.

  “Ha! You can’t fool me. You just got up because your legs were tired,” I said.

  “My legs, tired? From sitting in this comfortable chair? Don’t be silly. Try it, you’ll see,” he said.

  “Okay, I will.” I lowered myself slowly along the wall.

  A little past the point where the chair seat should have been I lost my balance and slid to the floor.

  Aaron held out his hand, laughing. “I’m so sorry, Elizabeth! I tried to stop that elf from pulling the chair out from under you at the last minute, but I didn’t catch him in time. Bad elf!”

  “Pig!” I said, l
aughing myself and letting Aaron pull me to my feet. “I don’t really feel like sitting anyway,” I said. It seemed like such a waste to be sitting still in a room full of magic. I strolled over to the cabinets.

  “What are you doing?” asked Aaron.

  “Just looking around.”

  “Don’t touch anything.”

  “I’m not. Don’t touch anything yourself,” I said.

  “No, really. All kidding aside, this stuff is dangerous. Don’t touch.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

  Instead of sitting back down with his book, Aaron strolled beside me.

  “What’s the matter, you don’t trust me? You’re the one who tricked me into falling all over the floor,” I said, but I didn’t actually mind having him there. On my last visit down here, I remembered, the very air had seemed to be holding its breath with a threatening buzz. The place felt less threatening with Aaron there.

  “You’re saying I made you weak in the knees? Well, I do tend to have that effect on girls,” said Aaron.

  “You mean they trip all over their feet trying to get away from you?”

  “Ooh, harsh,” he said.

  I sniffed as I strolled, enjoying the shifting smells. Faint jasmine. Or was it honeysuckle? No, fresh-caught fish when you fillet it on the dock before putting it in the cooler. No, a wet feather pillow. No, plastic bags. Cough syrup.

  We passed the bowls and cauldrons, the bottles, the shoes.

  “Hey, Aaron. How come there are so many shoes down here?”

  He shrugged. “They show up in a lot of fairy tales. ‘Puss in Boots.’ ‘Cinderella.’ ‘The Elves and the Shoemaker.’ Those stupid dancing princesses.”

  “Stupid? That’s my favorite story! What’s stupid about them?”

  “They were too busy thinking about dancing to notice a great big soldier in their boat, for one thing.”

  “But he was invisible!”

  “Like that would stop you from noticing. He was following them the whole time.”