The Wonderling

by Mira Bartók

  The middle of the courtyard exploded in a flurry of tail, tooth, and claw. Screeches, howls, and wild yelps filled the air as Mug, Orlick, and the gang pummeled one another. There was a lot of “You’ll pay for this!” and “I’ll get you!” and many expletives and insults all around. The little ones, such as Baby Tizer, scampered out of the way. Sneezeweed and Miss Carbunkle rushed forward, bearing paddle and cane.

  This had to be Trinket’s sign.

  Arthur started toward the Wall, trying to appear nonchalant. As he approached the pile of rubble at the base of the Wall, his confidence began to wane. I hope it’s big enough. What if it’s not big enough? What if I get stuck? What if there are snakes? His ear began to shake. His thoughts turned to Miss Carbunkle. What if I get caught? She’ll pour boiling gruel down my ear, then she’ll beat me with her cane and toss me in the Monster. Then, if I’m still alive, she’ll starve me to death. Not to mention what she’ll do to Trinket!

  He glanced back, wondering whether he should give up altogether. But Trinket’s plan was working. She had created absolute chaos in just a few short minutes. And now she would use her secret weapon. Calm down, he told himself. It’s going to be fine. He could hear Trinket’s voice inside his head: Be brave! Remember your namesake: Arthur, the Once and Future King.

  He looked around to make sure no one was watching, then steadied himself and slipped behind the pile of rocks. There was the hole, exactly as Trinket had described it. It looked just big enough for him to fit. And Trinket was right. There was a tunnel below the Wall. Who had tried to escape before him? he wondered. Did they ever make it out?

  Meanwhile, in the middle of the yard, Sneezeweed was swatting random groundlings right and left with his paddle.

  “This is mutiny!” cried Miss Carbunkle. “Stop, I say! Stop this instant!”

  She lifted the big brass whistle from around her neck and blew long and hard. The piercing sound was excruciatingly loud. Mug and the others froze in place, looking battered and dazed, while Wire slunk out of sight.

  Miss Carbunkle adjusted her wig, which had slipped a little to the left. “Who started this? Confess or you’ll all be punished!”

  A small voice piped up from below. “I started it, you big bully! Me, Trinket! That’s who!”

  Miss Carbunkle looked around to see where the voice was coming from.

  “If you please, ma’am,” said Sneezeweed, pointing down at Trinket. “It’s that stupid little Bird creature. Hangs out with the one-eared mute, that one does. And look — it’s covered in . . .” He bent down to take a closer look. “Well, I don’t rightly know.” Then he said to Trinket, “What are you playing at, knights in armor?”

  “Well, don’t just stand there, you idiot! Grab her!” shrieked Miss Carbunkle.

  Mr. Sneezeweed tried to snatch Trinket up, but she hopped just out of reach. Everyone was staring at Trinket now, including Miss Carbunkle. What they saw was a small wingless Bird covered in a bizarre suit of armor made from a mishmash of metal, leather scraps, clock parts, and other odds and ends. On her chest were four buttons — red, green, yellow, and blue.

  “Try and catch me!” she cried, and hopped backward.

  With her long curved beak, she pressed the small blue button. It made a clicking sound, and a soft, rhythmic clanking of gears began. From the top of her armored head rose what looked like a folded-up umbrella. When Trinket pressed the green button, the umbrella opened up into a propeller.

  To the amazement of all, the small flightless Bird lifted — albeit awkwardly — into the air.

  Trinket hovered in front of Miss Carbunkle’s face for a moment, then began flying in circles above her head. Her propeller whipped up so much air around her that Miss Carbunkle’s small white hat with the hawk feather flew right off her head.

  Miss Carbunkle’s ghostly face flushed scarlet. She began swatting wildly at Trinket with her cane. Sneezeweed tried to hit Trinket as well, but she was too fast.

  Trinket circled around and around above their heads, her propeller whirring and buzzing like a giant bee. Then the shouting began.

  “Hit her! Hit her! Hit her!” Mug and his gang took up the chant, just like that day when they had tried to toss Trinket over the Wall.

  Arthur heard the commotion and peeked around the pile of rocks to make sure his friend was all right. He could see Trinket circling Miss Carbunkle’s head. The headmistress was waving her arms around in hysterics, while Mr. Sneezeweed was trying unsuccessfully to grab hold of Trinket’s feet.

  Good old Trinket! She’ll be flying over the Wall any minute now. He tucked behind the rocks and was about to climb into the hole when he felt a sharp pair of claws digging into his shoulder, pulling him up and out.

  Sewer breath. Rotted meat. Dirty socks.

  “Going on holiday?” asked Wire. “My, my, we’re a naughty little puddlehead, aren’t we?” He dragged Arthur to the middle of the courtyard to where Miss Carbunkle and Mr. Sneezeweed were battling the small armored Bird.

  “Excuse me, madam,” said Wire. He gently tapped Miss Carbunkle’s arm and bowed. “I found the other one. He was trying to escape under the Wall.”

  Trinket looked down in horror.

  “You!” snapped Miss Carbunkle. “I should have known that you were behind all this. You always were a sneaky little flea.” She turned to Sneezeweed. “Leave the flying vermin to me. You lock this one up you-know-where. And make sure he has lots of company, if you know what I mean.”

  Mr. Sneezeweed grabbed the back of Arthur’s neck and headed to the door.

  Miss Carbunkle scrutinized the bristly gray Rat before her. Their eyes met, and in that moment, an inexplicable understanding passed between them — for like seeks like, even in darkness.

  Or perhaps especially in darkness.

  “Good work, groundling,” said Miss Carbunkle. “I don’t have my list with me. Your name is . . . ?” The headmistress was famous for not remembering anyone’s name, even the Grumblers who had been there since birth.

  “My name is Wire, ma’am,” said the Rat, bowing low. “At your service. Perhaps you recall the terrible, shall I say, ‘mouse ear’ incident? I daresay the fox groundling dishonored you then as well.”

  “Unfortunately, I do remember it. Too well, in fact. Well, Wire, you might have just earned yourself a piece of fresh cheese.”

  “With all due respect, madam, I have no need for cheese. Just knowing I could help is reward enough.” The Rat bowed again, then turned to join the crowd of spectators, for by then the entire orphanage had gathered.

  As Sneezeweed dragged him toward the door, Arthur could still hear what Wire and the Wig were saying. He felt like throwing up. Since when did Miss Carbunkle offer anyone cheese? And Wire of all creatures! Arthur’s imagination began to run wild. He imagined being served on a platter for Wire and a dungeon full of rats. He now believed that what Trinket had said was right — Miss Carbunkle was either keeping the groundlings in the rat dungeon for some sinister purpose or she was doing something even worse. His knees started to shake as he approached his doom.

  Then something extraordinary happened.

  Trinket landed right on top of Miss Carbunkle’s head!

  “Sneezeweed!” Miss Carbunkle bellowed.

  The crowd of orphans watched from the sidelines, completely enthralled.

  Mr. Sneezeweed let go of Arthur, dropped his paddle, and ran to help Miss Carbunkle.

  Arthur followed on his heels to help Trinket, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t get caught again.

  “I’ll get her!” Sneezeweed cried, and grabbed Miss Carbunkle’s cane. He pressed the two hawk eyes on the handle, and out popped a long pole and net from the other end. He took a few steps back, for the cane was much longer now. “Sneezeweed to the rescue! Now, if you please, ma’am, stay very, very still. . . .” He pushed his glasses up his nose, raised the net over his head, and took aim.

  Arthur joined the crowd. He watched as Trinket clung tightly to Miss Carbunkle’s wig w
ith her feet and pressed another button on her chest armor. Her propeller began speeding up.

  Miss Carbunkle clenched her teeth, and a thin strand of saliva dribbled out of her mouth. “Hurry up, you idiot!” she said, which sounded more like Urryuhdyouidjit! Then, more clearly, she hissed, “And be careful with that cane!”

  Sneezeweed’s shining moment had arrived. His face had a smug look on it, as if to say, This is just the sort of thing one gets promoted for.

  Wire, who was standing nearby, snickered. Just as Sneezeweed took aim, Wire said under his breath, “Stupid twit,” and Sneezeweed faltered.

  Trinket flew off Miss Carbunkle’s head the moment before the net landed. The only thing for it to catch was Miss Carbunkle’s wig. A hush fell upon the crowd. In his shock, Mr. Sneezeweed flung the contents of the net into the air.

  The wig’s departure was swift and sure.

  Miss Carbunkle let out a strangled cry. As all eyes turned skyward, she grasped wildly for her hood, yanked it over her head, and screamed “Get them!” to Sneezeweed as she fled the courtyard.

  The wind, growing stronger now, caught the bright-orange wig and carried it up, up, and away. Sneezeweed ran after it, trying, but failing, to catch it in the net.

  Apparently, the wig had a mind of its own.

  Everyone stood gazing at the sky in disbelief as the wig soared upward. All except for one. Wire smiled as he watched Miss Carbunkle race to the door. He had caught, in a flash, a glimpse of her head before she tossed her hood over it. It was not the pink, gleaming globe that he, like all the others, had imagined. It was a pale pate covered in fuzzy gray and brown feathers, like the soft down of a baby goshawk.

  This he filed away for later, and he turned to rejoin his so-called friends.

  A slender figure in blue and white, her long ginger braid flying behind her, dashed past Miss Carbunkle to the center of the yard. Nurse Linette had seen the spectacle from the infirmary window, which looked out upon the courtyard. She slipped something into the right pocket of Arthur’s coat, an action unnoticed by all, including him. “Arthur, you must go!” she cried. “Now’s your chance!”

  Trinket hovered in the air. “Arthur,” his friend shouted. “She’s right. We’ve got to go! I can carry you until we get over the Wall. Grab on!”

  “What?”

  “My feet! Grab my feet. Now!”

  “No way! I’m too heavy! We’ll fall! Go on without me!”

  “I’m not going without you,” said Trinket. “Now, jump on! Better to fall and die than stay here the rest of your life!”

  Arthur glanced at Sneezeweed, who was still running around, jumping up and down with the net, as if he could somehow will the wig to descend. But the wig looked delighted to be dancing among the clouds. And the groundlings were so delighted about the wig that they began to clap. The clapping got louder and louder as more groundlings joined in. Some, Arthur noticed, even looked happy.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Wire, Mug, and Orlick heading straight toward him, pushing others in the crowd out of the way. It was now or never.

  He stood on his toes, reached up, and grabbed on to his friend’s yellow feet.

  Trinket, her propeller purring, and Arthur, his heart beating fast, made their ascent and flew high above them all toward the great stone Wall. Trinket was a bit slow and awkward from the weight of her friend, who was hanging on for dear life. But nonetheless, they were triumphantly airborne.

  Before they reached the top of the Wall, Trinket and a somewhat terrified Arthur looked down at all the wayward and misbegotten creatures now staring up at them in awe.

  “Good-bye! Farewell!” cried Trinket. “Try to find a way out! And don’t ever forget to reach for the stars!”

  A cheer broke out in the courtyard. To Arthur’s amazement, many of the creatures were shouting not just Trinket’s name but his as well. “Go, Arthur, go!” they yelled.

  They were cheering for him.

  And they were calling him Arthur.

  Those who had caps tossed them as high as they could. Amidst their fellow groundlings’ wild happy cries, the two friends sailed over the Wall to the great Outside. And in the distance, whipping through the air, was a bright-orange wig, buoyant as a balloon. If you didn’t know any better, you might mistake it for a very strange-looking bird.

  It hovered for a moment, then flew upward toward the sun.

  MISS CARBUNKLE RAN STRAIGHT to her chambers and locked herself inside. One by one, she began picking up various objects from her dressing table — each one a model of a failed invention of hers, a machine that was never built — and threw them across the room. She left only one untouched: a miniature version of the beetle widget Monster.

  No one had ever tried to escape the Home before, and Miss Carbunkle was not happy about it at all.

  I’ll get those freaks, she said to herself. They’ll regret being born. And where is that Sneezeweed? The sniveling toad still has my cane!

  Moving quickly, she threw open the closet on her left and surveyed the contents. On one side, from floor to ceiling, rose shelf upon shelf of identical orange wigs, exactly like the one that had sailed over the Wall. On the other side were identical rabbit-fur hats. She chose a new hat and wig and shut the door.

  She ignored the closet on the right, the one she hadn’t opened in thirty years, and sat down on her bed. She began brushing the wig furiously, muttering under her breath, “Hooligans! Foul vermin! How dare they undermine my authority?”

  There was a tentative knock at the door. “Madam?” said a thin, nasally voice. “Miss . . . Miss Carbunkle?”

  Sneezeweed stood outside the headmistress’s chambers, sniffling and wringing his hands.

  Miss Carbunkle strode to the door but did not open it. “Where did you put them?” she demanded, grinding her teeth. “I hope you put them in the cellar. They need to be taught a lesson! And give me my cane. NOW.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am. Here’s your cane, safe and sound. Shall I — ?”

  “Leave it by the door, you dung beetle! Now, tell me what you did with those creatures.”

  “I, well, ma’am, you see . . . the thing is . . . I —”

  “Out with it!” she spat through the door.

  “If you please, ma’am . . .” Sneezeweed cleared his throat. “I must admit . . . that I — I failed to catch them. But, if I could only explain —”

  “What? Failed to catch them? Two stupid little groundlings? Well, what in God’s name are you doing here, then? Go out and catch them! Take the carriage. Hurry!”

  “But, ma’am . . . The cook, Bunmuncher, he took the carriage to market, and . . .”

  “Well, take the blooming donkey cart, then! And take my dogs with you. They’ll put a fright in those little monsters. We can’t have this sort of thing at the Home! We need to show them all that I will not tolerate insubordination of any kind. If we don’t nip this in the bud, it will spread like an infection. Now, be gone with you, and don’t come back until you’ve caught them, do you hear me?”

  “But Miss Carbunkle, can’t we . . . ? I mean, surely we can acquire more groundlings for your needs. We lose two; we procure two more. They’re worth nothing. Surely you know that better than anyone. Please, ma’am. I beg you . . .”

  “Get that cart and get going! Or you’ll end up in the dungeon!”

  “B-but . . . but . . . my allergies, ma’am! I mean — donkeys! And d-dogs! And . . . and . . . nature! P-please, can’t we —”

  There was a peculiar growling sound from inside the bedroom. What was that? For a moment, Mr. Sneezeweed wondered whether the headmistress had brought one of her mastiffs inside.

  “SNEEZEWEED!”

  “Yes, Miss Carbunkle?” he said meekly.

  “Go and get those renegades! You’re wasting my time. And leave my cane outside the door!”

  Sneezeweed dropped her cane and ran down the stairs, honking all the way to the stables.

  After Miss Carbunkle retriev
ed her cane, she placed it gently on the floor. She sat on her bed and waited for the one sound she loved even more than silence, the sound of a creature — her creature — unfurling itself from inside the cane. It emerged headfirst, like a butterfly, moist and iridescent from its cocoon, twisting and writhing out of its narrow prison. It was an ancient creature with wings like leaves, veiny and forest green, and was the size of a large bobcat. Its face now appeared less like the hawk’s on top of the cane and more like that on one of the gargoyles in the courtyard. It was a manticore — part human, part monster. It had a beak-like nose and a small black mouth with two rows of tiny pointed teeth, sharp as knives. The skin on its body, even on its four short feline legs and long serpentine tail that tapered to a point, looked like the bark of a tree, full of knots and burls and twigs sticking out every which way. Along its spine were sharp black tines.

  Inside the tip of its tail was a reservoir of deadly poison.

  When it was completely free, it shook itself off, stretched, and looked up at Miss Carbunkle with adoration, its eyes glistening. “Mistress!” it whispered in a soft, crackly voice.

  It stepped over the discarded hollow cane and jumped up onto Miss Carbunkle’s lap. The creature made a soft sound between a purr and a growl.

  “Mardox!” said Miss Carbunkle with a sigh of relief. She stroked the creature’s wings and scratched him behind his large rubbery ears. “I was terribly worried.”

  “There, there, Mistress,” purred the manticore. “I’m here now. Why don’t you tell Mardox all about it?”

  Later, as evening fell, Linette knocked on Miss Carbunkle’s door. “Aunt Clementine?” she called softly. “Are you all right? I brought your dinner. Hello?” But Miss Carbunkle did not answer. All Linette could hear through the door was her aunt muttering strange things. “Poor woman,” said Linette. “Talking to herself again. She really needs to go on holiday.”

  She placed a tray of food outside Miss Carbunkle’s room and went back downstairs.