Lost Places

by Carla Jablonski

  “Then I doubly appreciate your patience. I’d like to keep some of my dignity intact!”

  Soon they arrived at their destination: the abandoned lot where Tim had spent so much time when he was a little kid. Not too long ago he had discovered some formerly imaginary childhood chums were still living in the litter-strewn, weed-filled plot.

  “Here we are,” Tim announced, gesturing broadly at the lot. “This is where we’re having our picnic.”

  He took Molly’s hand and pulled her into the tall grass. He watched as her face changed, as she saw what Tim saw—that the lot had grown in all directions and now had all kinds of surprising things dotting its landscape: ancient monuments, tire swings, fruit-laden bushes, colorful paper lanterns swinging from trees. None of them truly belonged together, but here in the lot they created a kind of harmony and logic.

  “Ohhh,” Molly murmured. “You didn’t say there was a whole world in here. Is this because of the Opening Stone?”

  “Could be. I hadn’t thought of that.” Tim squeezed her hand. “See, I clearly need your help. I’m useless without you.”

  “Is this where the unicorn came from?” Molly asked. While Tim and Molly and Marya were in the midst of their last magical adventure, a unicorn had appeared. It had made quite an impression on Molly.

  “No, I’m pretty sure that was a unicorn from Faerie,” Tim told her. “But there could be a unicorn in here somewhere. If I believed in unicorns as a kid, there would be. I don’t remember.”

  Molly stood still and gaped at Tim. “You mean all this is here because you believed in it when you were little?”

  “I think so. That’s what everybody keeps telling me.”

  “Everybody?” Molly repeated.

  “Well, everybody I made up when I was a kid,” Tim explained. “You met Awn the Blink, the bloke with all the tools who helped get me out of the sewers.”

  Molly nodded, remembering. That was the same day she had met the unicorn.

  “And the narls say so, too.”

  “The whats?” Molly asked.

  “The people I want you to meet. They were my imaginary friends when I was small.”

  “I never had any imaginary friends,” Molly said.

  Tim snorted. “Then you must have been one of those kids who had actual friends!”

  They crossed the meadow toward a large oak tree. A few feet from the oak, Tim knelt down and motioned for Molly to do the same. “We need to approach them slowly,” he instructed. “They’re a little shy. They live in that tree.”

  They dropped their backpacks and then crawled through the high grass toward the tree. A few feet away from the trunk, Tim stopped. He had spotted the little twiglike creatures, concentrating hard on some task, seated just in front of the tree. He put his finger to his lips, and Molly nodded, letting him know she understood that they should be quiet.

  Tim leaned on his elbows, watched, and listened.

  “Piffle!” Tim heard the little narl named Crimple exclaim. “Is it down, out, and around? Or down, out, and in?” He sighed in frustration and stared at the strands of grass he held. Tim could see that some of the green fronds had been woven together.

  “How do birds manage to do this, Tanger?” Crimple complained. “They don’t even have thumbs.”

  “Birds are born with wings, Crimple,” Tanger explained patiently. “They don’t have to make them.”

  “No!” Crimple’s eyes widened in astonishment.

  Tanger nodded his head sharply several times. “It’s true, true, quite true. They have wings before they have feathers.”

  “Dogfroth!” Crimple’s tiny shoulders sagged. “I suppose it’s butterfly wings for me then.”

  “Only caterpillars get butterfly wings, Crimple.”

  “But I don’t want to be a caterpillar!” Crimple protested. “Two legs are quite enough for me, thank you!”

  “Quite enough for me, too!” Tim declared.

  “And me!” Molly chimed in, giggling.

  The two little sticklike creatures started. Tanger’s head whipped back so suddenly to stare up at Tim and Molly that his tiny spectacles fell off. Crimple took one openmouthed look at the two friends looming over him, then dropped the unfinished grass wings and dashed into the hole at the base of the tree.

  “Crimple!” Tanger called after the narl. He fumbled in the grass for his specs, then put them back on, hooking the flexible wire frames around his large, pointed ears. He shook his head. “Don’t know what’s come over that twigling,” he told Tim apologetically.

  “We didn’t mean to scare him,” Tim said.

  “Think nothing of it,” Tanger said. “The Opener is always welcome, you know that. And so does he. I’ll see what I can do.” He stroked his long pointy nose a few times and then followed Crimple into the tree. Tim could hear him trying to reason with the nervous narl.

  “I won’t go out. Make my excuses,” Crimple said.

  “Now, Crimple…”

  “Tell them I’m not feeling very leafy today.”

  “Crimple, don’t be a stick-in-the-mud.”

  “I wish I was a perishing stick,” Crimple muttered.

  “We can do without that kind of talk. Besides, it’s the Opener himself!”

  “Yes,” Crimple hissed. “But who’s he got with him?”

  Tim and Molly exchanged a look. Tim shrugged. “I told you they were shy,” he said, hoping Molly wouldn’t feel slighted by Crimple’s reaction to her. It had never occurred to him that anyone might not welcome Molly instantly.

  She looked worried. “Should I leave?”

  “No! No, I’m sure Tanger will work it all out,” Tim reassured her.

  “If you’re positive…” Molly said uncertainly.

  “I am.” He motioned to her to be quiet.

  “The Opener is the only one who’s supposed to see us,” Crimple declared. “That’s the rule, isn’t it?”

  “Hmm. That is true.” Tim heard Tanger take a long pause.

  The narl must be trying to figure out how all this works, Tim reasoned. Good luck to him! I’m the so-called Opener, and even I don’t understand it!

  “But it was the Opener who ordained the rules, you know,” Tanger said finally. “Therefore, it stands to reason that if he wishes to alter it, why—”

  “Fizzle!” Crimple cut off Tanger. “I’m not going out there and that’s final.”

  Tanger let out a long sigh. “Very well, twigling. Suit yourself.”

  Tanger reappeared outside the hollow in the base of the trunk. He gave a small bow to Tim. “Good morning, your Openership.” He bowed to Molly. “And good morning to you, too, miss.” He squinted at her. “Assuming you can see me, of course.”

  “I certainly can, and quite pleased to do so,” Molly replied. “It is a true honor.”

  “For me as well.”

  Tim grinned. If bark could blush, Tanger’s cheeks would be red. He seemed quite smitten. And it was clear to Tim that Molly was equally charmed by the little narl.

  “My apologies for Crimple,” Tanger said. He shook his head. “He can have some awfully persistent notions.”

  “I have an idea.” Molly smiled. She crawled closer to the tree trunk. She knocked twice on the bark, then said, “Crimple, would you come out, sir, please? Tim and I would like to make wings for you, and we need your help!”

  The short branches on Crimple’s head emerged from the hole in the tree. The rest of him quickly followed. “Wings, you say?” He stepped out in front of Molly. “If you truly need my help, I’ll be most happy to oblige.”

  “Excellent!” Molly picked up some leaves and held them up to Crimple, checking them for size. Tim did the same for Tanger. They began twisting the stems together.

  “So what else is out there in this place?” Molly asked as she fashioned a leaf wing before Crimple’s adoring eyes. He had a big smile on his face. Tim admired Molly’s clever way of smoothing things over with the nervous creature.

  “I don’t kn
ow,” Tim admitted. “This is as far as I’ve gone.”

  “Are you serious?” Molly gaped at him. “Why?”

  “Why am I serious or why haven’t I gotten myself lost out there?”

  “Truly, Molly, miss,” Tanger said. He took a sip of rainwater he had collected in an acorn cap. “The Opener is right. Why should he venture farther than our tree? Our lovely meadow. It’s nice and picnickery here.”

  Crimple shuddered. “There’s no telling what might be out there.”

  “This is absurd.” Molly put down her half-made wings and stood up. “I’m taking a look around.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Tim argued. He reached for his backpack and pulled out a sandwich. “Like Crimple says, we don’t know what’s lurking out there.”

  “Hey, no boyfriend of mine is going to see me as a weak and helpless female.” Molly waggled a finger at Tim. “You’d better not get all protective and overbearing or you’ll be in a load of trouble.”

  “All right, all right,” Tim said with a laugh. He flopped onto his back and watched her go.

  Molly set off through the tall grasses. How much trouble could she really find in a place I made up as a kid? Tim thought, taking a bite of his sandwich and enjoying the spring sunshine. She should be fine. Besides, he knew Molly would get quite mad if he objected any further. The day was just too nice for any more arguing.

  “You’d better go after her, your Openership,” Tanger said. “She could meet someone she hasn’t been introduced to.”

  “She’s pretty good at introducing herself,” Tim assured Tanger. “That’s how I met her.”

  Tanger put his acorn cup down on the root beside him. “I’m afraid you don’t understand, Opener.”

  “Oh, sazzle it!” Crimple exclaimed. “You stump heads can sit there and talk. I’m going after her.” Crimple raced across the meadow and disappeared into the tall grass.

  Tanger gasped. “He left the tree!”

  Tim glanced at Tanger. The narl looked horrified. “Uh, is he overreacting, or is Molly really in potential trouble?”

  It was as if the little narl hadn’t heard him. He seemed too stunned by Crimple’s departure. “He’s left the meadow. I can’t believe it.”

  Tanger’s fear was palpable, and now Tim was worried. He got to his feet. “Come on, we don’t want to lose them,” he said.

  “No,” Tanger said. “No, we don’t.”

  “Do you want me to carry you? My legs are a lot longer.”

  “I’m heavier than you think,” Tanger said.

  Tim looked down at the six-inch twiglike man and suppressed a smile. “I’ll manage.”

  He knelt down and let the spiky little creature climb up onto his shoulder.

  “Set?” Tim asked.

  “I suppose I must be.”

  Tim carefully stood up again, and Tanger clutched the collar of Tim’s sweatshirt to hold himself steady.

  “What were you saying about Crimple?” Tim asked as he trotted across the meadow. They soon slipped into the overgrown, grassy section where they had last seen Molly and Crimple.

  “Just that he’d left the tree and the meadow.”

  “He doesn’t do that often, then?”

  “No. Not many narls do.”

  “But aren’t you bored, staying in the same place all the time?”

  “Oh yes, your Openership. Bored as trivets. It was never a very exciting meadow, once you stopped coming ’round. I’ve often wished we could leave it. Without dying, that is.”

  Tim stopped in midstep and gulped. “Dying?” he repeated. Had he heard Tanger correctly? Were the two narls in even greater danger than Molly?

  Chapter Two

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN? You die if you leave the tree?” Tim asked Tanger. The idea had never occurred to him. “How?”

  “I couldn’t say exactly, your Openership,” Tanger replied, shifting nervously on Tim’s shoulder. “I’ve never died before, you see, so I’m a bit vague on the details. But that’s enough of that. Let’s concentrate on finding Crimple and Molly.”

  “Tanger, are you daft? If your life is in danger, you can’t come with me to find Molly.” He gripped Tanger’s ankles as tightly as he could without snapping them or getting splinters. “Hold on tight, I’m going to run you right back to the tree.”

  “Going back isn’t going to change anything,” Tanger said. “I’ve left my place, and there’s no undoing that.”

  This was all too confusing to Tim. “Get down, Tanger. We need to talk about this.”

  “Very well, Opener, if you insist. But let’s not dawdle, eh? Our friends are lost enough as it is.”

  Tim knelt down. “Come on, hop off.” He winced as the twiglike creature poked and scratched him clambering back to the ground. “Now, what’s all this place business?”

  “Don’t they have places where you come from?” Tanger asked.

  “Where I come from is a place, so far as I know. But you won’t catch me dying because I’ve left it.”

  “Hmm. That sounds a bit implausible, if you’ll forgive my saying so. Perhaps your folk don’t call their places ‘places’?”

  “I’m trying to understand,” Tim said. “I really am. But this still doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “What do your folk call it when you have to do certain things to convince your world that you belong in it?”

  Tim’s eyebrows rose behind his glasses. “I don’t think there is such a word. Or such a thing, for that matter. Not where I live, anyway.”

  Tanger stared at Tim. “Don’t your people have rules?” he asked, clearly perplexed. “Rules you all know but never talk about? Keep them and you’re welcome as rain, anywhere. Break them, though, and decent folks wouldn’t mulch with you if their roots depended on it. Even water runs away from you.”

  “Ohhh, I see.” Tim nodded as he began to understand. “We call that being snubbed. Listen, I can see how it might upset you to be ostracized like that—but aren’t you taking it a bit too hard? I mean, you’re not going to die of it, surely.”

  Tanger shook his head. “Well, if you’re not the most unfortunate Opener I’ve ever known, I’m a saucepan. Imagine having ears that size and not knowing how to use them!”

  Tim tried not to laugh. He knew Tanger was trying to explain something very important—life-threatening danger, in fact—but to see the little twiglike figure in such fury was, well, kind of cute.

  “Okay, let me try to figure this out,” he said to Tanger. “You’re saying, unless you do these things you always do—these habits, say, or ways of living—then the world itself doesn’t recognize you as one of its own.”

  Tanger clapped his small hands. “That’s it!”

  Tim could say the words, but it still didn’t make much sense to him, so he kept trying to work it out. “So these actions, or ways of being, kind of determine who you are?”

  “Yes, indeed, Opener! You’re coming ’round, I see!”

  Tim thought about the way he had felt when he had visited other worlds, like Faerie and Free Country. Tanger was right—one of the ways he was recognized as an outsider, and one of the reasons he felt so strange in those places, was because there were all these ways of behaving and beliefs and practices that he didn’t know anything about. All the Fair Folk knew how to live in Faerie; they were born knowing. Even within his own world, if Tim were to visit Buckingham Palace, for instance, he would certainly feel like he had left his place. He’d be far from the world he knew.

  “I think I get it now,” Tim said. “And because you’ve left your place, you’ve mixed things up. Your reality has changed.”

  “Precisely.” Tanger nodded.

  “And by changing your reality so drastically, you think you might cease to exist altogether.”

  “Yes,” Tanger said, his face brightening. Then, as if the implications of what Tim had just said became clear, his eyes were downcast again. “Yes,” he said softly.

  That’s just how I felt when I di
scovered I was magic. But things are different now. I learned—no, Tim corrected himself—I’m learning how to navigate this new world, the world in which I am magic. But it disrupted my place, and by doing so, in a sense the old Tim Hunter died. Maybe it would it be like that for Tanger, Tim told himself. Maybe this wouldn’t be a real death but some kind of symbolic death.

  But there was no way for Tim to be sure. What should they do? What was the right thing?

  Tanger stared down at the ground, silent. Tim placed his hands on his hips, thinking. If leaving the tree really might kill Tanger and Crimple, it is probably too late to change that. So we might as well go forward—and hope that the narl is wrong.

  “Listen,” Tim said finally. “Hop back up. If you’re right about this, there is nothing we can do about it now. So we might as well try to find Molly and Crimple. After that, we’ll see about you and Crimple returning to your ‘place.’”

  “Yes, Opener,” Tanger said. But Tim didn’t need to use magic to understand that Tanger didn’t really hold out much hope for surviving this adventure.

  Chapter Three

  “MOLLY? MISS?” CRIMPLE THE narl called after the human girl who had arrived with the Opener. He was having trouble keeping up with her long-legged strides. Being only six inches tall, his legs were a good deal shorter. But he did have the advantage of scooting nicely under branches and through brambles without much effort. Molly had to crash her way through the brush like a great brute.

  “Oh, Molly, do stop!” he shouted. “Why don’t we go back to the tree and finish my wings?”

  He realized he could no longer see her. She had gotten too far ahead of him. “Oh, dear, oh, dear.” He sat down and leaned against a root, catching his breath. He hadn’t run that far that fast in quite some time. Why would he? What would he go chasing after around his tree?

  Crimple sat bolt upright. “The tree!” he gasped. “I left the tree!” He leaped back up to his small feet and paced. “Oh, my goodness gracious. Spittle spattle. Mercy me! I’m out of place!”

  He walked in a circle so quickly that he felt quite dizzy and plunked back down to the grass. “I was so worried about Miss Molly that I left the hill. I didn’t even think. I just went. I’ve never done anything brave and brainless before. I didn’t know I had it in me.”