The Hidden Boy

by Jon Berkeley

  “What?” said Phoebe.

  “I thought it was Nails who made Theo disappear,” said Bea.

  She saw her friend’s eyes widen with the same realization.

  “Arkadi!” they whispered in unison.

  Arkadi

  Bea Flint and Phoebe Lu hurried back along the path toward Bell Hoot, while Nails the meerkat dozed happily in the jogging darkness of the backpack, his belly full of worms and beetles. The pale ghost of a blue moon remained in the sky. Below it the dawn had begun to spread on the western horizon—a fact that would have seemed strange to the two girls if they had had a compass to point it out to them. They were discussing whether they should tell anyone about the mysterious stowaway on the Blue Moon Mobile.

  “We did promise him,” said Phoebe.

  “I know, but why was he so worried? Do you think he knows that someone has disappeared because he was there?” Now that they had left the falls behind, Bea could hear again the warm humming she had noticed earlier. She wondered vaguely what it could be.

  “We don’t know that for sure ourselves. And he doesn’t seem very bright,” said Phoebe, her arms stretched out for balance as she walked along a narrow log by the path’s edge.

  “I don’t think he’s as simple as he’d like us to believe. How did he get out of that compartment?”

  “Didn’t you let him out?”

  “No. He unscrewed the panel from inside. How can you undo screws from the pointed end?”

  They passed the stone library. The windows were dark, overlooking the square like empty eye sockets. The path that led to the Millers’ house seemed unnaturally silent now.

  “He did have a tool belt,” said Phoebe. “And anyway, we don’t know what they’ll do to him if we tell. Maybe they burn people at the stake here.”

  “I doubt it,” said Bea. She chewed her lip. “But you’re right. We should find out some more. We’ll bring him some food later, and see if we can—”

  “Bea—” Phoebe interrupted her quietly. She pointed along the path. An eerie scene was unfolding in the cobwebby shadows. A strange mob of people surrounded the Millers’ house. They all had similar features—broad, flat faces and round staring eyes. Their clothes were worn and patched. Most wore fingerless gloves and some had scarves wrapped around their heads like desert nomads, despite the warmth of the night. Their hair—where it could be seen—was long and tangled. It was not their appearance, however, that made Bea stop in her tracks. They seemed to be performing a bizarre circus act. The sturdier members of the group stood just outside the circle of thornbushes that was planted beneath the house. Others had climbed onto their shoulders, and as Bea and Phoebe watched in dreadful fascination a third group of these odd intruders was clambering up to stand on the shoulders of the second. The whole operation was carried out in deathly silence.

  Bea reached out to grab Phoebe’s arm and pull her out of sight among the bushes, but Phoebe had other ideas. She was already marching along the center of the path and into the small clearing in front of the house. The third wave was just reaching the high windows of the Millers’ house when Phoebe spoke up.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she said in a loud voice. Several of the intruders jumped visibly, and one of their human towers collapsed, pitching the boy who made up its third tier into the thornbushes. He was about twelve, and he let out a yelp as the thorns bit him. It was the first sound that any of them had made, and as the boy struggled to extract himself from the thornbush Bea could see he was biting his lip to avoid making another. She forced herself to follow Phoebe, wishing she could be half as fearless as her friend.

  An ancient, squat woman appeared from the far side of the house. She said nothing, but the rest of the mob quickly dismounted as though she had given an invisible signal. The woman had the flat face and widely spaced, almost colorless eyes of her clan. It was the paleness of the eyes in particular that gave her stare such an unnerving intensity. Her hair was tied behind her head in a tight bun and she had a thin scarf wrapped several times around her neck. She walked silently up to where Bea and Phoebe stood, and looked at each of them in turn. Bea found it hard to meet her gaze, and even Phoebe’s defiant stare seemed to wilt a little. The woman spoke in a voice like a rusty nail. “You’re new here,” she croaked. “Who came with you?”

  “Captain Bontoc,” said Bea. She knew this was not what the old woman was asking, but she felt compelled to give an answer, and she hoped that this one would give nothing away.

  “Fool,” spat the old woman. It was not clear whether she was referring to Bea or to the captain. “Any more children?”

  “No,” said Phoebe, which was at least half true. “What were you doing at the windows of the Millers’ house?”

  The woman glared at her. “Neighborhood watch,” she said. She looked from one to the other again. Bea felt exposed under her gaze, as if she were in the middle of a field in a thunderstorm, wearing only her underwear.

  At that moment the Millers’ front door swung open and Mr. Miller’s voice called, “Who’s there?” through the gloom.

  The intruders vanished in a moment. As Bea watched they simply slid away between the trees, all except the old lady and the boy, who was extracting himself from the thornbush, and disappeared from view.

  The old woman leaned closer, until her nose almost touched Bea’s and her eyes seemed to merge into one pale disk with a black hole in the center. She smelled strongly of mothballs. “There’s more,” she croaked quietly. She turned and strode silently past the house. “Ike,” she said in a low voice as she passed the boy in the thornbush. Ike freed himself with a final push. He ran clumsily after the gray-haired woman, and Bea thought she heard her say, “Idiot boy!” as they slipped away among the trees.

  Tattoo

  “Couldn’t sleep, eh?” said Mr. Miller, leaning over the rail of the verandah. He turned his head and said, “Ladder,” and this time the ladder unfolded itself smartly, aided by a sharp tap from Mr. Miller’s foot. Bea and Phoebe climbed the ladder and sank onto two of the cane chairs. “You can join me for breakfast,” said Mr. Miller. “I like to make an early start.”

  He disappeared into the living room and came out a few moments later with a large breakfast tray. The eggs and toast scattered themselves onto plates in a considerably less tidy way than Mrs. Miller had managed the night before. “Oops,” said Mr. Miller. He poured the coffee by hand.

  “Plumegranates,” said Mrs. Miller, appearing on the verandah in a silk dressing gown. She carried a bowl of fat red fruit. “Try them. Very sweet.”

  Bea took a bite of the strange fruit. It tasted like raspberries and honey, with a hint of marzipan.

  “There were some strange people trying to look in through your windows when we came back,” she said, wiping juice from her chin. She was carrying too many secrets already, and she was sure this was something their hosts should know.

  Mrs. Miller put down the bowl with a clatter. Her hand flew to her mouth and she looked at her husband with wide eyes. “The Ledbetters!” she said.

  “Did you leave the back ladder down when you went out?” said Mr. Miller sharply.

  Bea shook her head. “Phoebe pulled the ladder back up, and then jumped down.”

  “They were standing on one another’s shoulders,” said Phoebe with admiration. “They were pretty good at balancing.”

  “They said they were neighborhood watch,” added Bea.

  “Which windows?” asked Mr. Miller.

  “I don’t think they reached any of them,” said Bea. “They would have had to lean in over the bushes, and Phoebe stopped them before they got high enough.”

  Mr. Miller took a long slurp of his coffee and eyed them from the caves beneath his eyebrows. “You’re sure they didn’t reach the windows?” he said.

  “As sure as I can be,” said Bea.

  “Who are the Ledbetters?” asked Phoebe. “What were they after?”

  The Millers looked at each other. “They need
to know,” said Mrs. Miller.

  Mr. Miller cleared his throat. He took a large bite from a slice of toast and munched on it for a while to give himself time to think.

  “Before Willow gets up,” said his wife gently.

  “The Ledbetters are the oldest clan in Bell Hoot,” Mr. Miller said through a mouthful of toast. “They live on a small island in the middle of Mumpfish Lake, about three miles from here. There used to be fruit trees on the island, but they cut them down for firewood many years ago.”

  “That doesn’t sound very smart,” said Bea.

  “They left nothing growing on the island, not even heather. Nobody knows why they did it. Their clan leader is old Maize Ledbetter. She was very highly regarded at one time, but she became more eccentric as she got older. Some believe she’s as crazy as a hen, but she’s also a very shrewd woman, and gifted with second sight. She has predicted many things with great accuracy.” He took another sip of coffee. “You may be sure she had a good reason for chopping the trees down, at least in her own mind. Now they grow nothing on the island, and scrape a living from farm laboring and odd jobs on the mainland.”

  “And burglary,” said Mrs. Miller.

  “And burglary,” echoed Mr. Miller. “That was bad enough, but recently things took a turn for the worse. It’s not valuables they’re after anymore.” He buttered another slice of toast thoughtfully, searching for the words he needed.

  “Aren’t the police able to stop them?” asked Phoebe, who was only half listening.

  “We don’t have police here,” said Mrs. Miller. “Bell Hoot is a small enough place. Everyone knows everyone else, at least by sight. People get along most of the time, and when disputes arise they can usually be settled by the Quorum.”

  “What’s the Quorum?” asked Bea.

  “It’s where I’m going this morning,” said Granny Delphine, emerging from the dining room. She was dressed all in black and looked like she meant business.

  “I think you have to put yourself on the agenda first,” said Mrs. Miller. “There’s usually a couple of weeks to wait.”

  Granny Delphine turned her spotlight stare on Mrs. Miller, smiled politely, and sat down to breakfast. “Is that coffee? I would love a cup of tea, if you don’t mind.”

  Mrs. Miller picked up the same pot from which her husband had poured the coffee. “Tea,” she said, and poured a cup of steaming red tea.

  “Thank you,” said Granny Delphine. “I’m sure the Quorum will regard my grandson’s disappearance as a matter of urgency.” She turned to Bea. “The Quorum is a sort of town council, except that I believe they actually get things done. I am going there this morning to see if I can find someone who can be of help.”

  “I spoke to Theo again,” said Bea, “through the Squeak Jar.”

  “What did he say?” asked Granny Delphine.

  “I asked him to describe where he was,” said Bea. “He said it’s a place with thin trees, and there’s always a breeze.”

  “Where might that be, Mr. Miller?” said Granny Delphine.

  Mr. Miller scratched the back of his head. “Thin trees,” he said. “Nowhere around here. This forest is old, and the trees are massive, as you can see.”

  “That sounds like the perfect opportunity for the two of you to do some exploring,” said Granny Delphine to Bea and Phoebe. She turned around at a sound from the living room. “And this must be Willow,” she said. “Maybe she’d like to go with you.”

  A young girl drifted out onto the verandah. She looked like a thinner version of her mother, but unlike Mrs. Miller’s porcelain skin, Willow’s complexion was pale and clammy, like cheese soaked in water. She walked as if in a dream, and barely glanced at Bea and Phoebe. She picked up a plumegranate without sitting down.

  “I don’t think so,” said Mrs. Miller. “Willow hasn’t been well. She gets tired easily.”

  “I get tired easily,” said Willow in a flat voice. She stared out into the trees without eating the fruit in her hand.

  “You were telling us about the Ledbetters,” said Phoebe, to break the silence.

  Mrs. Miller cleared her throat, and Mr. Miller stood up abruptly. “Nothing more to tell,” he said, without meeting Phoebe’s eye. It was obvious the subject was closed for now. He turned to Granny Delphine. “The Quorum starts early. I’ll point you in the right direction.”

  Mrs. Miller began to clear up the breakfast dishes noisily, as her husband and Granny Delphine descended the ladder. “Another plumegranate? I’ll make you some sandwiches. It looks like rain later. Were the beds comfortable? You could take the old road past the orchards. You’ll pass the windmill and turn left. There are copses of younger trees there. Don’t know if any of them are big enough to get lost in, mind. You girls will need some sleep before you go.”

  “I’m not tired,” said Bea.

  “Me neither,” said Phoebe. “I want to go exploring now.”

  “Well, if you’re sure,” said Mrs. Miller, “I’ll go and make you some lunch to bring.” She picked up the breakfast tray. “Willow,” she said gently. “Willow?” The thin girl started, and turned to them as if trying to remember where she was. “This is Bea and this is Phoebe. They’ll be staying with us for a while. Why don’t you sit down?” said Mrs. Miller. She swept into the kitchen, leaving the three girls alone.

  Willow sagged into a chair and looked at them with dull eyes. “You’re new,” she said.

  “We arrived last night,” said Bea.

  “I heard you,” said Willow.

  “Did we wake you up?” asked Phoebe.

  Willow shook her head. “I don’t sleep,” she said.

  At that moment the tree house began to vibrate with heavy thumping. Even in a strange house Bea recognized it immediately as the sound of Pa descending the stairs. His voice boomed from inside. “I don’t see the harm in asking. I can’t just sit here all day.”

  “What are you going to do?” replied Ma’s voice. “Go around the town asking, ‘Have you seen a boy?’”

  “I can describe him,” said Pa, as he loomed onto the verandah. “Morning, girls.”

  “Describe him, then,” said Ma.

  “Well, he’s…” A frown crossed his face. “Is he six or seven?”

  “That’s a good start,” said Ma. “Bea, have you even brushed your hair since we left the apartment?” She sat down and smiled briefly at Willow.

  “Seven years old, brownish hair. Well, lightish. Front teeth missing, face probably dirty,” said Pa, counting off details on his thick fingers.

  “We don’t even have a photograph,” said Ma.

  “I’ll just have to do without,” said Pa. “Either way, I can’t just sit around doing nothing.”

  Bea could hear the background hum she had noticed the night before: It was stronger now in the daylight, and it reminded her of a sound she remembered from years before. Her mother had still had her tattoo parlor back then, before Theo was born. Bea could remember sitting in the overstuffed armchair, watching Ma trace the curving tendrils of a climbing rose or adding the heat to a dragon’s flaming breath, working so quickly that the picture would spread across the customer’s skin like spilled ink. She could still see the contentment on her mother’s face as she worked, and hear the sound of her tattoo machine buzzing reassuringly in the corner. She looked at Ma now. There were dark rings under her eyes, and she was shredding a tissue between her fingers.

  A sudden thought struck Bea. “You could tattoo a picture of him, Ma!” she said. “Then Pa would be able to show it to everyone.”

  Pa looked at her with admiration. “That’s a genius idea!” He laid his forearm on the table and turned it over, pale side up like a fish’s belly. “I’ve still got a gap right here, between the tiger’s head and the butter fly in boots.”

  “And what would I use for equipment?” said Ma.

  Pa guffawed. “You can’t fool me,” he said. “I could feel the weight of it in your suitcase. You always bring it on holiday.”

&
nbsp; “Then when you get home you always put it back in the cupboard and say, ‘I don’t know why I brought this stuff,’” said Bea.

  “I haven’t done a tattoo in years,” said Ma doubtfully, but Bea could see the ghost of a smile through the sorrow on her face.

  “Won’t make a bit of difference,” said Pa. “You were the best in the business, and it will all come back to you the moment the ink hits the skin. Isn’t that right, Bea?”

  But Bea had already gone, through the dining room and up the stairs to fetch the honey-colored wooden tattoo box from her mother’s suitcase.

  Bees

  Bea Flint and Phoebe Lu walked along the forest path in the direction Mrs. Miller had indicated. They intended to double back as soon as they could find a turnoff. Bea had put their sandwiches in the outer pocket of Theo’s backpack to protect them from the hungry meerkat. She would give the sandwiches to Arkadi, and in return she had questions to ask him. The buzzing from Ma’s tattoo machine faded slowly into the background hum of the forest. A fat bumblebee sailed past them, and suddenly Bea realized what the sound was. “Bees!” she said.

  “What about them?” said Phoebe.

  “That’s what that humming sound is.”

  “I can’t hear anything.”

  “You can’t?” said Bea. She spread her arms wide. “It’s all around us. I could hear it in the night too, but not as loud.”

  “There’s a turn here,” said Phoebe. They took a sharp right. After a short while the path began to curve back on itself, and they could see the back of the library building through the trees. “This must be the other path that goes to Cambio Falls,” said Phoebe. “I think I’ll be able to find the hut when we get closer.”

  They left the path after a while and made their way through the trees, clambering over twisted roots. Brightly colored birds perched just above their heads, eyeing them with black button eyes. A snake broke cover just in front of them and disappeared again into the shivering undergrowth. Bea kept her eyes peeled for monkeys.