The Toby the Trilby Trilogy Boxed Set

by Angela Castillo

  Sonda poked her head in. Her usually sallow cheeks were tinged with pink. “Oh, Stance, we’re rich!”

  Stance grabbed a screwdriver from the instrument panel where Emory had left it the day before. “Hey, help me pry off this metal thingy.”

  “No!” Emory threw himself in front of the controls. “Can’t you see? This machine could get us away from here!”

  Sonda stared at him. “Leave the Palace? Why we would we want to do that?” He pushed the screwdriver towards Emory’s face. “Now get outta my way, unless you wanna lose an eye.”

  Emory’s heart dropped.

  A loud, metallic sound came from the side of the warehouse. Emory froze. Shadowy figures approached the helicopter. Two, then five more.

  “Stance, is that you?” An older man stared up at them. Most of his teeth were broken down to his pale gums.

  “Find something?” A woman stepped into the light. “You wasn’t gonna keep it from the rest of us, was ya?”

  The next events shot past Emory like bullets. Stance and Sonda shoved Emory aside and began to hammer and yank at the instrument panel. Even while Emory begged them to stop, more people swarmed the machine.

  Emory’s pack was ripped from his shoulders, and rough fingers tore through his pockets. He was pushed, pinched and slapped until he tumbled to the warehouse floor. Through the helicopter’s windows, hands tore into upholstery, wires and fiberglass panels.

  He watched his last hope disappear like a warm breath in winter’s air. Emory crawled to a dark corner of the warehouse and cried.

  ###

  A man opened the door and leaned heavily against it. Thick spidery veins filled the whites of his eyes. Toby was used to people towering above him but this man was even taller than Mr. Malachi and wavered like he might topple over at any moment.

  “What d’ya want? We don’t let in children under the age of twelves. Youngers can’t take the Vibrance, kills ‘em dead.” The tiniest point of the man’s tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth when he talked, and gave his words a slobbery sound.

  Toby shuddered. The grambles never drank. He had only seen examples of substance abuse in movies. Disgusted as he felt, this man held the fate of their mission in his hands.

  “I’m fifteen, sir.” He stretched as tall as possible. “I’m just small for my... I’m just small.”

  “Yeah, like I never heard that one before.” The man’s beefy hand reached around for the outside doorknob to draw it back.

  Jurn stepped forward. “Look, sir, we’re both old enough. We want to see Mr. Simper.”

  “Mr. Simper, eh?” A crafty look spread over the man’s face. “Wouldn’t be you have something of value in those teensy pockets?” He stepped outside and closed the door behind him. “Well, why don’t we see what you got.”

  Toby itched to cover the pocket holding the gold cross, but he kept his hands folded together. “We will wait to see Mr. Simper, with all due respect.” He tried to keep his tone cheerful, but it ended with a bit of a hiss.

  “Is that so?” The man reached behind him for a stick propped up against the wall. “Well, I’m good as him. I can take it in, you see? Then I’ll come back and tell you what he thinks.” He smacked the rod against his hand. “If it’s something good, maybe you’ll get luckier next time.”

  “Scaring my customers, Mitts?” A voice, cold as old bones, grated through the doorway.

  Toby’s hands relaxed. The relief on Jurn’s face mirrored his own feelings.

  Another man stepped out on the porch, the type of person who wouldn’t be noticed on the street; not tall nor short; thick nor thin. His clothes and hair were a drab, ordinary gray.

  Then he gazed down at Toby, and his eyes burned like molten silver. Bright and sharp, in no way muddled. The look pierced Toby’s soul.

  Simper.

  Toby stepped forward. “We have a memory for you, Sir. We wish to gain admittance to the Palace of Dreams.”

  Simper raised a hand to usher them inside. “Come in, boys, come in!”

  Another tremor ran through Toby, almost like he was walking into his own grave.

  Mitts smiled a toothless grin. “Welcome to the Palace.”

  6

  THE PALACE

  Emory huddled in the corner, eyes shut tight long after the pops, shuffles and shouts died away. He still couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. Maybe if I wish hard enough, I can go back in time and everything will be right again.

  Then he heard new steps, in long sure strides. He opened his eyes.

  “Are you hurt?” Mr. Malachi kneeled down by the boy.

  Emory shook his head.

  “Good. I got here as quickly as I could. Son, let’s go home.” Mr. Malachi bent down and offered him his hand.

  Emory rose on trembling legs and surveyed the warehouse. Pieces of foam from the helicopter’s seats littered the floor, and pages of his repair manual danced in the breeze like dried leaves. He couldn’t face the inside of the helicopter, so he simply turned and walked out into the yard.

  Hot tears slipped down his cheeks again. “How could they be so stupid?” His hands clenched into fists.

  Mr. Malachi scooped him up into a hug. Emory could feel the big man’s heart thumping under the soft material of his shirt.

  “Emory, my son, ‘Even the youth grow tired and faint, but He brings strength to those who wait.’ That’s from the Bible. We must trust God has a better plan.”

  Emory wiped his nose on his sleeve. “But how do I know for sure?”

  “Because the Bible says ‘He makes all things work together for the good of those who love Him.’”

  “But what about Sonda? She doesn’t love anything but Vibrance.”

  Mr. Malachi squeezed under the fence, then helped Emory. “Sometimes we have to hold up other people with our faith when they don’t have any for themselves. Don’t give up. Your sister might still be saved.”

  ###

  Toby and Jurn followed Simper down a hallway while Mitt lumbered behind them. Darkness covered the walls on either side, but when Toby stretched out a hand, his fingertips ran along a series of cracks. His shoes scuffed over threadbare carpet.

  Simper opened a door before them, and they stepped into a clean, sunlit room. Paintings of waterfalls and forests covered the tan walls . A lone desk surrounded by chairs sat in the middle of the space. Stacks of paper and a glass jar filled with pencils and pens rested on the glossy desk surface.

  Jurn’s eyebrows traveled up to his snarled bangs.

  “Boys, let me explain how things work here at the Palace.” Simper perched on a chair and gestured for the boys to sit in the seats across from him. “Payments come into this room only. So let’s see what you have.” He pulled out a blank sheet of paper from the stack and an ancient pencil from the jar. “Since it’s your first time, I’ll give you an extra day, and all the Vibrance you can handle, of course.”

  “Won’t be much, I can tell you that!” Mitts guffawed behind them.

  “You can go now.” Simper didn’t even glance up at the big man.

  Mitt’s mouth pulled down at the corners like an angry bulldog, but he turned and walked out of the room. He left the door cracked behind him.

  “Close it all the way, Mitts.” Simper’s voice never rose.

  The door slammed shut.

  Simper looked up from his paper expectantly.

  “Oh, yes. Here.” Toby brought out the cross. The gold gleamed in the streaks of sun coming from the windows.

  “Bless me!” A grin of pure greed flicked across Simper’s face for a tiny second, then his mouth drew back into its normal stoic expression. “Yes, yes, boy, the trinket will do. Always wait for me before you reveal the treasure, remember that.”

  He picked up the pencil. “Necklace will buy you three days for two. Then a free day, so... four.”

  And we only need one. Toby let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Mr. Simper.” He signed his name under the contract the man had hastily
scribbled.

  Simper held out his hand, and Toby dropped in the necklace. Thin, gray fingers closed around the gold. “The Palace is right through that door, boys. Wonder! Delight! The dance of forgetfulness!”

  Jurn walked out.

  Toby followed and shut the door. Then he stuck his head back inside. “Mr. Simper, what is the Vibrance made from?”

  The man sprang up from the floor behind the desk, banging his head. He moved to the door with surprising swiftness for a man of his age and slammed it in Toby’s face, but not before Toby noticed the rug under the desk had been pulled back.

  “Okay, never mind.” Toby said to the closed door. I bet he has a secret under that desk.

  Toby turned and squinted. The size of the room was obscured by darkness, but the place was hot and stuffy, and smelled of mold and candle wax. No windows brought in light.

  A group of musicians stood on a raised platform on the room’s edge. One man blew through the mouthpiece of a brass horn or tuba, attached to a yellowed plastic pipe. Another beat on a row of rusty pots and pans with two bent spoons. A woman strummed strings stretched over part of a bicycle frame.

  Dozens of bare feet slapped the ground and added to the bizarre melody. Men and women danced with no apparent pattern or purpose. Some jerked and moved erratically, while some stood in one spot and swayed, looks of pure bliss on their pale, thin faces.

  An eerie blue light settled over everything.

  Shelves lined the walls, and on these sat rows and rows of small glass jars filled with a blue liquid. Toby realized candles behind the glass were casting the light.

  A woman lurched out of the group and staggered towards one of the shelves. She grasped a jar with an unsteady hand and drank the liquid down in one gulp.

  A darting shape moved from the shadows. A person took the jar just emptied by the woman and replaced it with a full one. “A fresh one, here, Sir.” A child’s face, almost level with Toby’s, peered into his hood.

  “But, you’re so young,” Toby said. “I thought kids under twelve weren’t allowed into the Palace.”

  “Most aren’t, only us special ones.” The boy squared thin shoulders and ran a hand through his thick, shaggy hair. “We are the Vibrance keepers. We help the Palace run good, then we earn a free month of dancing when we’re old enough. I only got one year left ‘til my time.”

  “You really want to be like them?” Toby nodded toward the stumbling group of dancers. One man had passed out on the floor. The other people paid him no mind, just danced around him. Some tripped over his inert form.

  Several children came forward and carried him out of the way, gently placing him on a mat by the wall.

  “Oh, yes.” The boy gazed at the dancers with a small smile on his lips. “Don’t you see? They can’t remember.”

  “Vibrance really makes people forget things?”

  “Yes.” The boy clutched the jar to his chest. “Ma died when I was five, and then my brother. I tried to make the hurt go away for so long. It just don’t. But Vibrance is like magic. Makes you forget all of your heart pains.”

  Toby stared at the blue liquid. Memories of Gramble Colleen ached so much, like splinters stuck into his heart. And the people he had met, the ones who would not accept help. Their faces haunted him every night. Maybe a tiny sip of Vibrance could numb the pain.

  “Toby! What are you doing?” Jurn hissed beside him.

  Toby whipped around. “Uh, just looking at the Vibrance. I was um, trying to figure out what it is. It’s such a weird color, right?”

  He bent down to get a closer look. A man lurched to the table, reaching for a jar. The man tripped and caught Toby’s shoulder to keep from falling.

  Toby’s hood slipped down.

  The room grew silent. Several children paused from their jobs, mouths hanging open. A few of the dancers moved closer. They stared at... his ears.

  “Oh no,” he breathed.

  Mitts slunk out of the shadows where he had been watching them. “Hmmm, what have we here? I had a feeling I needed to keep an eye on you. What kinda monster are you, boy?”

  “I’m not a monster! I just--” Toby’s normal explanation died on his tongue. It’s no use. These were not reasonable people.

  “Everyone in the Palace knows ya don’t hide stuff from me.” Mitts grabbed Toby’s arm and pulled him towards the door. “I’m gonna show you my closet.”

  Jurn’s terrified eyes followed Toby all the way to the door.

  Toby mouthed, “Go back to Malachi.” He could only hope his friend understood the message in the dim light.

  ###

  By the time Emory and Malachi reached the church, the boy’s sobs had settled into an occasional hiccup or sniffle.

  Malachi murmured a few words of comfort and then fell silent.

  Emory wondered how his heart could still beat, after being cracked into tiny pieces. Nothing will make it better.

  The front room of the church was deserted when they entered. Most youngers would be on the roof or preparing the mid-day meal in the kitchen. A breakfast of bread and one potato for each of them had been left on the table.

  “I hope Toby’s all right.” Mr. Malachi said as they sat down.

  Emory gripped the now-cold potato for a moment, then hurled it at an angel statue. The vegetable burst into sticky fragments, and the sculpture rocked on its base. Yellow bits dropped off a marble cheek.

  The bread would have followed, but Mr. Malachi gently pried it from his hand and set it on the plate. “Your anger is understood, but let’s not waste precious food or threaten one of our few remaining pieces of art.”

  “Sorry,” muttered Emory, but he didn’t feel sorry. Even his anger was gone now, hurled away along with the potato. In its place was a hollow void of nothingness... no pain, no sorrow. No hope.

  “My poor boy.” Mr. Malachi’s forehead rippled with the wrinkles that only appeared when he was most concerned. “We’ve lost so many people dear to us. Like my family. And your parents, whom I loved like a brother and sister. But Emory, we cannot lose our hope.”

  “What if there’s nothing left to hope for?” Emory thought he had cried himself dry, but new tears burned the corners of his eyes.

  Malachi’s eyes twinkled. “Child, we always have hope. Just remember, we’re in this world for what seems like a blink of an eye, and then we’ll be with Jesus. Until then, we cannot give up on His work.”

  Emory remembered the good times, when his parents were alive. One autumn day, they had all been up on the roof working together. Though covered in dirt and sweat, all were happy. The harvest promised to be a bountiful one and everyone’s belly would be full all winter.

  His father had hoisted him up on his strong, broad shoulders, and Sonda had skipped along with her hand wrapped in the colorful material of their mother’s skirt. The family stood on the edge of the roof and watched the bright circle of sun settle lazily into the horizon.

  He missed the childish security, the knowledge his family would always be close by to surround him with safety and love. The memory was a scrap in his mind threatening to blow away with every fresh disappointment.

  “Hoping makes me tired.” Emory settled his head into the crook of his arm.

  “So does staying up for most of the night.” Malachi patted his hand. “Try to take a nap while I keep watch for the boys who are trying to help us..”

  The door burst open, and Serephina flew inside. Shouts and screams were cut off when she slammed the door behind her. “Fight... at the Palace,” she gasped.

  “Not again!” Mr. Malachi sprang to his feet. “Emory, you stay here and get some rest. I’d better make sure our new friends are safe.”

  7

  UNDERNEATH

  The closet was exactly what it sounded like: a small, narrow room, filled with so much junk Toby couldn’t move without stepping on something sharp or squishy. A tiny window near the ceiling kept the room from going completely black when Mitt slammed the door. Toby heard t
he rasp of a bolt, angry clunks as Mitt stomped down the flight of stairs they had come up, and then... nothing.

  Toby examined the wall. The same pattern of cracks he remembered from the hallway covered the plaster here. Maybe I can break through the wall. He peeled away a handful of white powdery chunks before he hit solid wood

  A rummage through the piles of junk turned up splintered boards, wads of cloth and some broken jars. Wow. I’d better not cut myself.

  He finally cleared a space big enough to settle down and think. A few years ago, if Toby had found himself in such a horrible situation, he might have cried. But after all his adventures he’d learned no matter how dark or desperate the place, he was never alone.

  “Father, I’m sorry for letting the Vibrance tempt me. I have to let you reach in and heal my hurts. I don’t understand why you allowed me to be captured like this, but I trust you. Please, please help me.”

  Since he didn’t have a watch and no view of the sky to chart the sun’s course, he could only judge the passage of time by his grumbling stomach.

  A shaft of sunlight settled on his upturned face, and he squinted up at the window.

  How strong is that glass? He rose and picked his way through the piles of stuff until he stood by the wall. Mitts would never consider the window a means of escape. Nothing in the closet would be sturdy enough to stand on, and the ledge was far too high for a normal person to reach.

  But I’m a Trilby! Toby dug through the junk until he found a part of a broom handle. He wrapped a cloth around the wooden stick and clenched it between his teeth. Then he stuffed his gloves in his coat pocket and extended his claws. Sharp points dug through the plaster and into the wood beneath the window with little effort. He hoisted himself up a few feet, gripped the surface with his soft shoes and quickly scaled the wall to the window. Toby grasped the window sill with one hand and held the stick in the other. One good smack and the glass shattered. Then he placed the cloth over the jagged glass and crawled into the open air.