The Wonderling

by Mira Bartók

  “I’m sorry, Quintus,” he said. “I just saw one thing after another, and I didn’t know what to take, and then there was this . . . this machine and it, well, all of a sudden I was sleeping and then there were birds and the ocean and . . . and all kinds of songs and . . . and . . .”

  Quintus cut him short. “Stop yer nonsense, Spike,” he said, frowning, and put the kettle on for tea. “Don’t want to hear it now.”

  “But, Quintus, it was . . .”

  “No, not a word more. Tomorrow you gots ta take somethin’ or there’ll be trouble for sure, you hear me? An’ I’ll have no more talk about sleep machines an’ the like.”

  Arthur let out a frustrated sigh. “All right,” he said. “But if I t-take something tomorrow, Quintus, will you show me where that place is then, 17 Tintagel Road? Will you promise? Please, will you?”

  “If you do right by me tomorrow, I promise I’ll do right by you.”

  That night, after eating soup and listening to the others sing while he, as usual, only hummed along, Arthur finally crawled under his quilt and went to sleep.

  He dreamed of a tapestry of sounds, sounds he had no name for — all the birds and fishes and other creatures of the world, the waterfalls, the wind — all the songs and symphonies the Songcatcher had poured into his soul. And, unbeknownst to him, he sang a melody from his dark corner of the house, and his voice, lilting and pure, floated out the window into the world.

  THE NEXT DAY, Quintus insisted that Arthur return to the big stone house. “Our lady friend comes back soon, so you’d better do things right this time. Gots to take advantage of her generosity while she’s gone.”

  The group found this last remark quite funny, but Arthur didn’t laugh. Instead, he politely reminded Quintus of their deal — that Quintus would show him where 17 Tintagel Road was after he finished the job. It was his sixth day in Lumentown, and he still didn’t know where the street was. Arthur was getting impatient.

  An hour later, Arthur and Goblin were standing in the alley near Lumentown Market. From there, it was just a short walk to the big stone house with blue shutters. Arthur was dying to listen to the Songcatcher again, but he was terrified of getting caught, and he certainly didn’t want to steal anything from the beautiful, magical house.

  “That’s just plummy, me workin’ with you again,” said Goblin.

  Arthur didn’t know what to say. He hung his head and said, “S-sorry, Goblin. I don’t even want to go.”

  “I don’t care a toss what you want to do. The point is,” said Goblin, “Quintus says you need to finish the job, an’ Quintus calls the shots around here. Not you, not me, understand? Now, go on; you’re wastin’ my time.” Goblin checked his tag, making sure it was on the outside of his shirt. Then he turned to go.

  “Goblin — wait. Can I ask you a question?” said Arthur.

  “What is it? We gots to go!”

  “Why can’t one of the others go to that house? I mean — why’s it have to be me?”

  Goblin snorted. “You’re dumb as a radish, aren’t you?” He removed his hat and brushed off a speck of dirt. “Listen to me. You know what a cabin boy is?”

  “N-no . . . what is it?”

  “Lowest on a ship’s ladder, cabin boy is.”

  “I’m not sure I follow you, Goblin,” said Arthur.

  “I’ll lay it out for you in plain English,” said Goblin. “If everyone’s starvin’ on the ship, who do you think they’re gonna eat first? Think it’s the captain, do ya? Well, think again. You, Daisy Face.” He poked Arthur in the chest with a long knobby finger. “You’re our cabin boy, you is.”

  “B-but —”

  “No buts about it. You gots the duster tag, cabin boy.” He held up his own medallion. It was stamped 6, and below was the symbol of a carrot, which meant his sanctioned “job” was to load and unload carts at the market. “We all works outside jobs, if you knows what I mean.” Goblin snorted again, which was his version of a laugh but sounded more like someone coughing up a piece of food. “Now, let’s get on with it. You take some nice little treasures, you hear me? And swear you’ll be here on time.” Goblin put his trilby back on his head and continued. “D.O.G.C. makes their rounds on the hour every hour in this part of town, an’ ya don’t want to get caught. Just because you and I got numbers don’t mean they won’t check to see if they’re legit if they see us loiterin’ about. You almost made us late yesterday. Now, swear to it!”

  “I swear, Goblin. I p-promise. But Quintus said if I have a tag, I should be fine.”

  “You heard what Floop said. Changing of the guard and all that. So you just make sure you’re on time — and don’t lose that feather duster!”

  Goblin scuttled away toward the market in his green waistcoat and trilby, and Arthur, in his new suit of clothes, held his feather duster in prominent view, just as he’d been told. He turned in the opposite direction and began walking toward the big stone house.

  When Arthur plucked the key from under the stone bird, the neighbor wasn’t in her yard. But she was watching him; let there be no mistake. She peered at him through her spyglass from her upstairs window. After he slipped inside the door, the woman went over to her desk, took out a piece of paper, and noted the date and time of day. “Curious,” she said to her husband, who was reading the paper. “Curious that one should require a duster two days in a row.”

  “Yes, dear,” said her husband, turning a page.

  “Then again . . . that house must be covered in filth, the way she lets groundlings in and out. That woman is an abomination! I suspect she allows the vermin to relieve themselves right on the carpet! Yes, I’m sure of it!” She put her hand up to her forehead, as if she were about to faint. “The mess in there! I shudder to think!”

  “Yes, dear,” said her husband, turning another page.

  “Still . . . it is curious, now, isn’t it, Henry? Henry? Henry! Are you listening to me?!”

  This time, Arthur ran straight upstairs to the room with the Songcatcher. He opened the closet on the left and gazed at all the rows of boxes. There were just too many to choose from. For lack of a better idea, he closed his eyes and picked three boxes at random. They turned out to be: the Complete Works of Beethoven; Mouse Hornpipes, Airs, and Jigs; and Medieval Dance Music. He decided to listen to each for ten minutes, which gave him ample time to do what he had to do and still get back to Goblin.

  He chose the Medieval Dance Music first. He knew what dancing was from Trinket, who had demonstrated how to dance one day — or at least how her people danced — which meant a lot of hopping up and down and spinning really, really fast. Which to him looked just like she always looked when she was excited, but she assured him there was a difference.

  “This first one’s for you, Trinket,” he said.

  The music was a richly textured mix of ancient instruments that Arthur had never heard of — medieval harps, rebecs, viols, frame drums, sackbuts, bells, and wooden flutes — and it made his heart expand. He felt light and happy as he dreamed. It was like flying. He listened to things called saltarellos and estampies. They were fast and rhythmic, and without knowing it, he stamped his feet to the music as he slept.

  Next, he listened to Mouse music, which was lively too, although some of it was so high-pitched that later, when he woke up, his ear felt all itchy. He ended with Beethoven. This was something profound. It left him feeling breathless, full of yearning, and full of awe. He also felt like he needed to lie down and take a very long nap.

  He carefully put the cylinders back in their boxes, shut the closet door, and went downstairs. Arthur had decided that the only thing he felt comfortable taking from the house that had given him so many gifts was food. Anyway, wasn’t food a kind of treasure? At Wildered Manor, it inspired songs and made good soups. He found the larder next to the kitchen on the first floor and filled his pockets and rucksack with potatoes, onions, carrots, and two small bags of rice. There, he said to himself. That should make everyone happy.

&
nbsp; Arthur arrived at their meeting place early. He was to wait for Goblin by the entrance to the alley near Market Street, where they had parted ways almost an hour before. His pockets and rucksack were stuffed with food, and although he felt guilty about taking so much, he was quite pleased with himself all the same. He hoped Goblin and the others would be too.

  The alleyway was empty. And then, all of a sudden, he noticed something flying in his direction. The thing, whatever it was, was blurting out random words that sounded like Blech! Meep! and Glah!

  Arthur moved out of the shadows to get a better look. Was it some kind of bird? A giant bug? What could it be? Curious, he started walking toward it. It began to make clicking and buzzing sounds, like gears in motion. He stopped in his tracks. Trinket? Could it be? He felt a sudden rush of love for his friend.

  Arthur called out, “Trinket? Is that you?” and ran toward the thing.

  “Blech! Shmeep! Platz!”

  When he got close enough, he saw that it wasn’t Trinket at all, but some kind of odd mechanical bird with a head that was too big for its body and eyes that rolled around in their sockets. It blinked an awful lot as well. The bird’s metal wings jerked up and down awkwardly until it finally stabilized itself. It hovered right in front of Arthur’s face and blurted out “Ploop,” followed by a peep.

  A peep that sounded just like Trinket.

  It opened its beak and Trinket’s voice came pouring out: “Dear Arthur: If you can hear this message, my experiment worked! Hurrah! I found you! I told you I would find you, didn’t I?”

  Arthur couldn’t believe it! It was her!

  He forgot all about the D.O.G.C. and Goblin. He stood right in the middle of the alley, not caring a toss who saw or heard him.

  There was another outburst of Blech! Shmeep! Platz!, then the bird continued talking. Arthur listened, captivated, his heart beating fast.

  “This is a messenger pigeon, Arthur! Still has some bugs to work out (like that eye-rolling thing — quite annoying, really), and sometimes it says things that don’t make sense at all, but don’t worry. I’ll sort them out soon enough.”

  Trinket told him how she’d found her uncle, who was indeed a tinkerer. And that she was safe and sound, living in a tree house by the sea. But she couldn’t wait to see him. “I miss you terribly, Arthur,” she said. “Do you miss me? I am learning a lot from my uncle, though. He’s not an inventor, really, but he’s awfully good with his beak. As you know, Arthur, it’s all in the beak.” She began to laugh and so did he. It was as if she were right there with him.

  She asked him where he was living and whether he had eaten a pie yet, and if he had found the house on Tintagel Road. She also asked if he had had any trouble in the City. She said her uncle had told her that every town made up its own rules about groundlings. “We’re lucky,” she said. “My uncle said some towns don’t even let groundlings live there at all. The people here are nice, though. It helps that my uncle’s the only tinkerer around!”

  Trinket told him to follow the instructions at the end of her message so he could send a message back. “It works sort of like a player piano, Arthur, but you probably don’t know what that is. When you speak into it, something inside punches little holes on a scroll and . . . Oh, never mind. Rather hard to explain. Just talk, and I’ll get the message! And don’t worry. The bird knows how to find me. And it will always be able to find you. At least I hope it will. The first experiments were disasters. I sent messages to twenty complete strangers!”

  Arthur stood there grinning. Then Trinket’s voice said, “Oh, by the way, I haven’t figured out yet how to stop it from flying away right after my message ends. So Arthur, grab it right now so you can send me a message back!”

  The bird began flying in circles around Arthur’s head, then it flipped over and took off down the alley in the opposite direction of where he was supposed to meet Goblin. It kept squawking, “Hello, Arthur! Good-bye, Arthur! Hello! Good-bye! Blech! Meep! Gack!”

  He tore after it down the alley and around the corner. He flew past donkey carts, street musicians, bicyclists, and people heading to market. The bird zigzagged to the right, flew straight up, then swooped down another alley. After several minutes, he finally caught the bird. As soon as he grasped it firmly in his hands, a scroll popped out of its beak. The bird began talking again. Trinket’s voice told him to insert the scroll into the side of the bird: “See the slot there, Arthur? Feed the scroll through it while you talk. The bird will do the rest!”

  Then he remembered Goblin. He was going to be late.

  Goblin, Trinket, Trinket, Goblin — what to do?

  There was so much to say, but he kept it short because he was worried about Goblin. He would be so angry!

  “Trinket,” he began, “I know it hasn’t been long, but I miss you so much. I can’t wait till you come!”

  He quickly told her where he was staying but left out the part about how he had to wear a tag again, and how he had just stolen about ten pounds of vegetables. He didn’t even mention the Songcatcher. He had to get back to Goblin. “Send another message soon!” he said. “Please, you have to. And tell me when you’re coming. I’ve got to go now.”

  After he finished talking, the bird set off on a crazy path down the alley, flying upside down, banging into walls, and squawking all the way until it finally turned the corner and was gone. Arthur glanced up at the clock on the building across the street. He was very, very late.

  Arthur ran back as fast as he could to the place he was supposed to meet Goblin. But Goblin was nowhere to be seen.

  Arthur called out to him several times. He searched behind every rubbish bin and discarded crate and box, but still, there was no Goblin.

  Then he heard a terrible sound — the sharp cry of someone in pain, followed by a steam whistle and the rattling of hooves on cobblestones.

  Arthur peeked around the corner. Two men wearing thick brass goggles and black bowler hats bearing the D.O.G.C.’s insignia of a single eye were shutting the back of a large black wagon, pulled by two automaton horses. Steam billowed from the horses’ nostrils and ears. Arthur could see the D.O.G.C. logo on the door, and above the letters were the words We See All!

  And lying in the middle of the road was Goblin’s beloved green trilby, flat as a pancake and covered in mud.

  GOBLIN WAS GONE, and it was entirely his fault.

  Back at Wildered Manor, he turned over the vegetables he had taken, then, reluctantly, showed them Goblin’s hat. Once he explained what had happened, no one would talk to him except for Squee, who felt sorry for him. Everyone moped about, grumbling to themselves or at one another. No one sang the soup song at dinner either, not even Quintus. They ate in silence, then went to bed.

  In the morning, when they were all gathered in the common room for breakfast, Quintus told Arthur that Goblin had most likely been taken to prison or “down below,” which was where Arthur would end up if he didn’t bring something other than food back from that house. “Workin’ in the coal pits now, I reckon,” said Quintus. “He might never see the light a day again, poor sot. You let me down, Spike. I need to trust me mates. It breaks me heart — Goblin gone an’ you lettin’ me down.”

  Arthur had one more day to redeem himself before the lady who lived at the stone house returned. If he could just take one small thing, maybe Quintus would still help him find the house where he was born. Yet he knew in his heart of hearts that he would disappoint Quintus again, for how could he ever take something from that magical place? He was so anxious about it that he kept pulling on his ear.

  But two beautiful thoughts existed alongside the weight of guilt and worry: Trinket’s message and the wonder of the Songcatcher. When he thought about the miraculous machine, he felt light and giddy, as if he could float up to the ceiling of Wildered Manor and fly over the City’s bright spires.

  He couldn’t wait to go back to the house with blue shutters.

  And he dreaded it as well.

  It was sad g
oing alone. None of the others would go with him, not even Squee. Even though Goblin had never been that nice, Arthur sensed that he hadn’t always been so grumpy. He felt so sorry for what had happened, he couldn’t bear thinking about it.

  When Arthur got to Stinkbottom Bridge, he paid the toll monkey, which went as well as it could go, considering the monkey screamed at him five times instead of three. But when he greeted Constable Floop, the officer didn’t respond in kind. Floop looked right through him as if he weren’t even there.

  Strange, thought Arthur. Very strange indeed.

  When he arrived at the house, he was so excited about listening to the Songcatcher again that he pushed the thought of stealing out of his mind completely. He dropped his duster in the foyer and ran straight upstairs. He knew exactly what he wanted to hear this time.

  Lullabies. The song he had carried in his heart for as long as he could remember had to have been a lullaby. If he could find the song, he might be able to piece together the puzzle of who he really was.

  But finding the right lullaby proved to be a difficult task. Apparently, there were millions of lullabies in the world. He searched the catalog. The list was endless: Lullabies for Naughty Babies, Lullabies for Sweet & Tender Babies, Lullabies for Hedgehogs, Songs for Sleepy Lemurs, Songs for Sleepy Sloths, Snuggling Songs in the Key of C, D, E, and so on. He shook his head in frustration. Finally, he narrowed it down to only one, a box labeled simply Lullabies.

  After he put the cylinder in place, Arthur pulled the Songcatcher’s bell over his head and turned the hand crank three times. The tinkling sound of a music box lulled him to sleep, and he slipped into a dream.

  It was like his old dream — his nightmare — only this time it wasn’t scary; at least, the scary part hadn’t happened yet. It was the same place he always saw, but he could see it much clearer now. He saw the backyard of a big white house and beyond, a grove of trees. The animals weren’t running away in the dream, but walking toward him instead. There were rabbits and squirrels, birds and mice, and even a fox! And there was no blazing pillar of fire, just a beautiful sky glittering with stars and an orange moon above. It was all so lovely and peaceful. In the distance, he saw the silhouettes of soaring towers and spires; it was the skyline of Lumentown.