The Wonderling

by Mira Bartók

“This is a conundrum,” said Peevil. The mouse paced back and forth again, then sat up on his haunches. “I’ve got it! There’s someone who might be able to help us. She definitely can lead us out of here and take us to wherever we need to go.”

  “Great! Who is she? Where can we find her?”

  “Well,” said Peevil, “it’s complicated.”

  “What do you mean by complicated?” said Arthur.

  “She might not want to help us,” said the mouse. “And . . . I don’t actually know her; I just work for those who do. . . . But what I do know, well, let’s just say she’s gigantic, has dangerous magical powers, is terribly moody, plus she hates to travel, and she doesn’t trust foxes — in fact, she doesn’t like anyone other than crows — and she’s got a reputation for being really, really fickle. Oh, and when she’s in a temper, she just pecks your eyes out with her beak. I think that’s it.”

  “That’s it?” said Arthur. He sat down on the cold, damp rock, put his head in his hands, and groaned.

  “Oh, and there was that rumor about her eating an entire crookery of groundlings a few years ago, but that could just be hearsay. Other than that, she’s perfect!”

  “What?”

  “I shouldn’t have said that. Forget I said that. Really, I —”

  “Peevil, listen. You are an optimistic mouse. A brave mouse. The bravest mouse I’ve ever met. But in my humble opinion, this . . . this creature, whatever she is, sounds like a whole lot of trouble. Maybe more trouble than she’s worth, I’d say. We should probably ask someone else.”

  “No — I think she’s the one. I’ve got a feeling about this. You’ve got to trust me, Arthur. You do trust me, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but —”

  “Then, please, just do as I say. We’ll make sure nothing goes wrong.”

  “How are we going to do that?”

  “Before we go asking for help, you need to learn as much as you possibly can about crows.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because Belisha — that’s her name — is the Guardian of the Night Crows, and trust me, you don’t want to do anything to make her angry.”

  After a few inquiries, it turned out that Belisha, the Guardian of the Night Crows, had already heard of Peevil because of his excellent cleaning service, and a meeting was set for that same evening. They were to meet her in front of the gate at the graveyard, near the entrance to Gloomintown. In the meantime, the mouse spent the rest of the day teaching Arthur everything he knew about crows.

  For one, they were generalists. They ate anything edible, as well as things not edible to others. But they had a certain passion for centipedes, weevils, and grubs, so Peevil suggested that they collect as many as they could for their meeting that night.

  Arthur also learned that night crows were very ancient birds and followed a different set of rules from those of humans and groundlings, and even crows in the world above. Belisha, whose name, Peevil said, meant “beacon of light,” was the leader of all the night crows, and she wielded great powers, both light and dark.

  “The High Hats call them rat-birds, or sky rats,” said Peevil. “Very insulting, to be sure.” He explained that humans and groundlings alike feared night crows, for it was rumored that they could change size at will and become threateningly large, and that they could blind a person with the blazing light from their huge glowing eyes.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” said Peevil. “One more thing. Night crows love music. Singing calms them down. Sometimes, if two night crows are fighting, another crow will sing a song to make them get along. They sing in harmony too! Lovely singers, night crows.”

  Peevil told Arthur that night crows even used songs to navigate the subterranean sky. “That’s how they know where to go. It’s almost like their melodies are lines on an invisible map.”

  Fortunately, Arthur remembered how to get to the entrance to Gloomintown. As he and the mouse made their way along the sewage-drenched streets, Arthur remembered what Gaffer had said the night he arrived: The Badger had pointed to the cemetery and said, “Those who don’t likes to work . . . take a look to your right. Not a nice way to go, starvin’ to death, heh, heh, heh.”

  They approached the graveyard’s main entrance, a padlocked black gate even more imposing than the one at the Home. Arthur could hear the haunting cry of a bird ripping through the hollow darkness somewhere inside. The vast abandoned graveyard was alive with the Night Crow’s song, her trilling and chortling, her chaffing and scolding, her quirking and bell-like peals. Then came the sound of an infinite number of birds singing the very same song.

  Arthur looked around him. Circling the gate were hundreds of black leafless trees. They looked like birches, only black as night. They were not quite dead, but not quite of the world of the living either. He felt a prickle on the nape of his furry neck.

  “I don’t like the look of this place, Peevil.”

  Thousands of souls were buried behind the cemetery gate, all of them groundlings — the numberless, the hunted, and the lost. Arthur could see makeshift plaques made of black stone or scraps of wood on the graves of those who were lucky enough to have family or friends to mark their passing.

  A mist set in and swirled around the graveyard. Arthur began to shiver. Peevil sat on Arthur’s shoulder, trembling and pulling on his whiskers.

  “Look up there!” said Peevil. They could see two beams of light coming toward them. Arthur heard a loud flapping of wings, and then, from the mist, a large black shape emerged. It swooped low to the ground and landed inside the graveyard by the gate.

  The bird was the size of a horse.

  “Peevil,” whispered Arthur, “I don’t like this. We should turn back. Right now!”

  “She’s our only chance,” said the mouse. “We’ve got to try.”

  “You remind me of a friend of mine. She’d say the same thing,” said Arthur, shaking his head. “I’m leaving anyway. This is way too scary.”

  But before he could run, the Night Crow turned her gaze upon him. He tried to look up, but the light from her enormous eyes was too bright, like two blazing suns.

  The Crow then fixed her gaze on the padlocked gate. It swung open with ease. Arthur gulped. Peevil gave him a little pinch and said firmly, “We’re going in.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” whispered Arthur. He and Peevil entered, and the gate slammed shut behind them.

  The Crow dimmed her eyes and motioned for them to come forward. Arthur helped Peevil down, and together they bowed before Belisha, Guardian of the Night Crows.

  “Give her the grubs,” squeaked the mouse.

  “Right,” said Arthur, and pulled out all the grubs he had collected. He placed the squirming pile of juicy white grubs before the Crow, and stepped back, knees wobbling.

  Arthur said, “If you please, madam . . . Most High of All Crows . . . we have come to ask a favor of you.”

  “Why should I help you?” she said, munching on a fat grub. “I have only granted this audience because of the mouse, who is known and well liked by the night crows. I was not told there would be a groundling here.” Her voice was deep and resonant, and rumbled as if it came from the center of the earth. “I don’t trust anyone who comes from Above. And I don’t trust groundlings.”

  “If you please . . . aren’t you . . . ?” Arthur hesitated, for he did not want to insult the great bird. “Aren’t you a groundling? I mean — can everyone understand you?”

  The Night Crow narrowed her eyes in anger. “You are as ignorant as the High Hats up above. Do you think that the world is made up only of humans, groundlings, and the so-called dumb beasts of land and sea and air? There are other creatures out there, Foxling. Ancient creatures. And I am one of them.”

  “Arthur!” squeaked Peevil. “Get to the point and let’s go! Ask her!”

  But Arthur ignored Peevil, for as fearful as he was, he was curious at heart. “Excuse me for asking, but . . . what are you, then?”

  “We are the l
isteners, and we are the eyes of night. We trick the living and guard the dead, even in our dreams. Simply put: we are night crows, and I am the Guardian. And that is all you need to know about us. There are mysteries in this place that are far beyond your understanding, Foxling.”

  Peevil pinched Arthur’s toe, and Arthur bowed again to the Crow.

  “I’m . . . I’m sorry for bothering you. The truth is, what we really came to tell you is that we need to get out of Gloomintown. We need to get to an orphanage far from here, and right away.”

  “I told you. I do not trust anyone from the world Above.”

  “Why’s that?” asked Arthur. “I mean . . . Your Majesty . . . Excellent, Most High . . . Madam . . . Guardian . . . Oh, bother. I don’t know what to call you. Sorry.” He hung his head, embarrassed.

  “Belisha,” she boomed. “The name is Belisha. And I do not trust the ones Above because there, we crows are treated with cruelty and disrespect.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Arthur.

  “Do you know what they call us up there when we get together in a group? When we are talking or dining or singing together?”

  “No . . .”

  “A ‘murder.’ Yes, it’s true. Up there, they say, ‘Oh, look at the murder of crows eating that dead squirrel,’ or ‘Oh, look at that murder of crows stealing our corn,’ and so on. So you can see why some of us have chosen to go Below. At least down here we get respect. That we have. And besides, I shall not help you simply because foxes and crows do not mix. They never have and never will.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We have a long history, Foxling. Your people and mine. Always trying to out-trick one another. Or, one could say, outfox one another.” She laughed, which seemed completely out of character. Her laugh sounded like several short caws, followed by kek kek kek kek.

  Peevil stepped forward and said in his loudest mouse voice, “Please, Belisha, we are on a quest, and we really need your help.”

  “Yes, please,” implored Arthur. “If you don’t help us, in a few months’ time, all the music of the world could disappear. Think about it — no more singing, no more beautiful songs. All of it, gone forever.”

  “What? What do you mean by this?” The Crow’s eyes glowed more brightly, and the two had to turn away. “Is this a lie? Are you trying to trick me, Foxling?”

  Arthur told her of Miss Carbunkle’s plan. He told her all about the miraculous Songcatcher, and how it had been stolen, and how, if Belisha didn’t help them out of Gloomintown, not only would music disappear from the world above; it would disappear from the world below too.

  “It’s only a matter of time,” said Arthur. “And we have to hurry. We have to go now.”

  The Night Crow was silent. Her feathers fluttered in the chilly graveyard air. She shook her great blue-black head.

  “This is a terrible, terrible thing,” she said. “An evil thing.”

  Arthur could feel the Crow’s deep sorrow at what they had told her.

  She said nothing for a few moments, then spoke. Her voice was a mixture of anger and sadness. “I understand now. We crows love music like life itself. This monstrous creature, this Carbunkle, must be stopped. Yes, Foxling, I will help you. I will take you there.”

  Thus, they struck a deal, Arthur, Peevil, and the Crow. They now had a way to Pinecone’s house, where they could get food and hopefully some more help. Then they would travel to the Home under cover of night.

  “You should know one thing, though,” said Belisha as Arthur and Peevil were leaving.

  “What’s that?” asked Arthur.

  “You will pay a price.”

  Arthur had nothing left. “I can’t pay you,” he said. “I have no money. But I can get you grubs, lots of them! Fat ones! And weevils, and anything else you like.”

  The Crow laughed again: “Kek kek kek, carack, kek kek kek carack, wok wok wok!”

  “What’s so funny?” asked Arthur in his innocent way, for, despite everything that had happened thus far, he still had an innocent heart.

  “I will take something from you,” said the Crow. “Something good or something bad. Night crows do not judge in that way.”

  “What will it be?” asked Arthur.

  “Kek kek kek! That is for both of us to find out.”

  ARTHUR AND PEEVIL were to leave the next day, after Arthur’s shift at the mines, so he could at least receive his ration of bread to take on their journey. He had already missed a day of food and was weak from hunger. But when he and Peevil returned to Arthur’s crookery hole, they were alarmed to find three weasel groundlings sitting around playing cards.

  “Uh, excuse me,” said Arthur, politely. “I — I believe you’re in the wrong place? Perhaps I can help you find the right one?”

  “Ain’t this number 1,313,131,313?” said the largest of the weasels.

  “Yes,” said Arthur.

  “Then we got the right place. The Badger said the groundling livin’ here didn’t show up to work and that’s that. We got the hole now, so you just scram, all right? We’d like a little privacy, if you don’t mind. We start at the mine tomorrow early.”

  “But . . .” began Arthur. Then all three Weasels bared their teeth at him and hissed. Arthur and Peevil dashed out of the hole and climbed back down.

  The two had no recourse but to return to the graveyard in hopes that Belisha would take them that very night. But when they got there, she was gone. They plopped down on the cold, wet ground in front of the gate.

  “I suppose we’ll just have to spend the night here and wait around until tomorrow,” said Arthur.

  “I could recite more of The Once and Future Mouse King if you like,” said Peevil. “Shall I begin?”

  “Wait. I think I hear something.”

  His ear flicked this way and that. Arthur could hear the flutter of wings, but they were too small to be Belisha’s. He searched the dark cemetery for signs of her, but he could only see the shapes of hundreds of small black birds with large glowing eyes, wheeling above the graves. They were singing a haunting song with very complex harmonies. Arthur could almost make it out, as if it were in a foreign language he had forgotten long ago.

  “What if she doesn’t come?” asked Arthur.

  “You mean tomorrow night?” asked Peevil.

  “I mean ever. You said she was fickle. What if she just never comes?”

  But Belisha did come. She came in a flurry of black feathers and light.

  “How did you know to come back?” asked Arthur.

  “Didn’t you hear them singing?” said Belisha. “They were calling me. They did it for your little friend here,” she added, motioning to Peevil.

  After they had gone over the plan one more time, Belisha said, “All right, you may climb aboard now. But absolutely no kicking. I’m not a horse, you know.”

  The great Crow bowed her head and body as low as she could so Arthur and Peevil could scramble up onto her back. Arthur placed Peevil in his shirt pocket and held fast to Belisha’s soft feathery neck. The Night Crow let out a harsh cry and lifted into the air.

  Arthur was afraid Peevil would fall, so he tried to make him stay inside his pocket. But the mouse kept popping his head out so he could see everything and feel the wind on his face. He told Arthur that he wanted to be wide awake the moment the three of them rose up into the world of light.

  “You just be careful, you hear me?” Arthur called out to the mouse, who was clearly having the time of his life.

  “Wheeeeeee!” cried Peevil, clinging tightly to the top of Arthur’s pocket with his tiny paws.

  They flew through the dark world below the luminous City, through subterranean tunnels and mines, through black rock caverns, past factories sputtering smoke. They wove their way through the labyrinth that led toward the way out, the light from the Crow’s bulging eyes cutting a path through the darkness.

  Along one wall, they came upon a cavernous chamber about fifty feet high, supported by pillars, arches, and
buttresses, with gargoyles jutting out from every corner. It was an underground cathedral that obviously had once been grand. It looked like the vaulted entryway into Gloomintown but smaller and more intact. Arthur could hear bats inside the cathedral, their wings humming and quivering with song. As they passed through it and out, the light from Belisha’s eyes shone on faded frescoes of animal gods and goddesses, and carvings of strange birds and trees.

  They soared over the black winding river, which Belisha told them was called the Serpentine. From above, Arthur could see how long and wide it was, and he thought of Stinkbottom River and the first time he crossed the bridge with Quintus in Lumentown. And once again, his mind drifted to 17 Tintagel Road. And now look, he said to himself. Instead of there, I’m here, going back to that dreadful, dreadful place.

  But he had to go back. He knew it. For if he didn’t, what would happen to all the songs?

  After they had been flying for several hours, Arthur dozed off, clinging to the Night Crow’s neck. A sudden burst of air jolted him awake. He felt a strong breeze rising up around them. He turned his head and saw that the breeze was coming from Belisha’s wings. She was twisting them this way and that so as to stir the air. She was going much faster now, and Arthur feared for Peevil, who was so light, he could be sucked right out of his pocket. He put his hand inside his shirt and touched the mouse’s head. Peevil was huddled at the bottom of Arthur’s pocket, hanging on for dear life.

  “I’m all right,” said Peevil. “But tell her to slow down!”

  “Belisha!” cried Arthur. “Please slow down! You’re going too fast!”

  But the Crow said nothing.

  She went faster, and the air swirled around her as if she were the eye of a storm.

  Arthur felt the wind tug hard at his shirt. It felt like invisible fingers, and the fingers were coaxing something out of his pocket, something precious to him, something he kept close to his heart. But it wasn’t Peevil; it was something else — it was the blue blanket scrap and tiny gold key.

  It wasn’t the wind. He knew it now. It was the Night Crow. She was taking the only thing he had left. Arthur held on to Belisha’s neck with one hand and clutched his shirt pocket with his other. But the churning wind was too strong, and he watched in horror as it forced his hand away and wrenched his blue bundle right out of his shirt pocket.