The Wonderling

by Mira Bartók

  The small tattered scrap with faded gold thread opened in the air, and it and the key simply hovered there, buoyed along by the wind.

  “Stop! Please!” he cried to the Crow, but she did nothing. Arthur moved to reach for them but nearly fell off trying. The key and blanket scrap bobbed along with the current for a moment, then tumbled down into the abyss.

  Arthur let out a strangled cry and buried his head in the Crow’s neck in despair. He could feel Peevil, inside his pocket against his chest, patting him with his tiny paw through his shirt, trying to console him.

  At last, the Crow slowed, and the wind died down too.

  Finally, Belisha spoke.

  “That is the price for your journey, Foxling. Your debt is paid.”

  “But why? Why did you have to take that?” He was crying bitterly now, his tears swept away by the dying wind.

  “Because, young groundling — you have all you need.” She paused, then said, almost kindly, “Except for one thing more. And that I cannot give you.”

  They flew until it was nearly dawn. At last, they passed through a tunnel that opened up into a large underground cave. Arthur understood now that the world below was much bigger than he had thought — not just a city under the City, but a whole subterranean land.

  Arthur could smell the damp moss above and heard creatures lumbering among the twisted roots of ancient trees.

  “This is where I leave you,” said the Crow. “If you keep going straight, you should find an animal den you can exit through. But I must go. Soon, daylight will come, and I cannot fly in the day. And I do not know the way underground to this ‘Home’ of which you speak. I must return.”

  “B-but you said you’d help us!” said Arthur. “I thought you’d take us all the way. You said you’d take us there. You said . . .”

  “I said I would take you there. But I never said where there was, did I, Foxling? My eyes cannot take the bright world Above. For night crows, even the moon is almost too much to bear.”

  “But please, Belisha, we’re never going to get there in time. It’ll take us at least two more days of walking from here. Can’t you see?”

  “I am sorry, Foxling. I have never flown by day and I am not about to start. We are the beacons of the Underworld, not meant to be blind, helpless birds Above. Good-bye, Arthur. Good-bye, Peevil. Good luck.”

  They had no choice but to keep going. Maybe Pinecone’s family would know what to do. They walked through the cave and in less than an hour, found themselves inside an animal den, just as Belisha had said.

  “Time to go up,” said Peevil. “I want to go there on my own four feet, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do,” said Arthur.

  He found the way out by ear: a trickle of fresh, clean water dripping down a round opening into the den.

  “It’s this way,” said Arthur. They had begun to scramble up a large root toward the opening when Arthur heard a sniffing sound behind him. He turned around to look.

  It was a fox.

  It was so beautiful it took his breath away.

  The fox was fiery red, with large pointy ears, just like his one special ear, alert to the world. It approached him tentatively, then stopped about five feet away. The animal stared deep into Arthur’s eyes.

  Arthur slowly reached his hand out to the creature. But the fox sniffed the air, gave him a parting glance, and fled into the dark.

  Arthur took a deep breath, turned back around, and climbed.

  And under the cloak of night, just before dawn, Arthur and the mouse exited the Dark World and emerged once again into a world of moonlight and glittering stars.

  THE DEN was right by Pinecone’s house, and Arthur easily found his way to the ancient old oak. He felt for the acorn carving behind the tangle of ivy and touched it with gratitude. “This is it,” he said to Peevil. “It’s still dark out. I feel bad about waking them up. But it can’t be helped.”

  He scooped the mouse up, tucked him into his pocket, and knocked on the tree trunk.

  A woman with elfin ears and long raven hair opened the door. She had a broad smile on her face; she knew exactly who he was. Her son hadn’t stopped talking about the one-eared adventurer and his Bird friend for the past three weeks. “You must be Arthur!” she said, motioning him inside. “I’m Mrs. Oakley, but you can call me Cathleen. My husband’s up, but Nana and the children are still asleep. Please, come in. Blimey, did you travel here all by yourself?”

  Arthur nodded and said, “C-Cathleen? I thought . . . I mean — you’re not named for a tree?”

  Mrs. Oakley laughed. “Everyone asks me that. Markus — that’s my husband — and I always knew we belonged to the forest, and when we moved here and started a family, we decided every child should be connected to the trees. It seemed silly for us to change our names, though. We’ve always been us, you see? So I’m still Cathleen and he’s still Markus. And Nana, well, Nana will always be Nana Eunice, and it’s no good suggesting to her otherwise. But what’s in a name, eh?”

  Just then, Peevil popped his head out of Arthur’s shirt pocket. “Oh, this is Peevil,” said Arthur. “He can understand everything you say. It’s just that no one can understand him, so I’ll translate.”

  “I see,” said Pinecone’s mother, raising one eyebrow. “You can understand mice, can you? Very interesting, yes, indeed.” She extended a finger to Peevil, who placed a tiny mouse kiss upon it. “Oh, my!” she said. “You are a gallant mouse, aren’t you!”

  Peevil’s ears blushed a deep pink.

  Arthur took in the cozy round room — the bark walls, the glowing luminaries, the paintings of green-garbed children and trees, the kettle at the hearth, the handmade tools hanging over the mantel. “Boy, am I glad to be here,” he said. There was that feeling of familiarity and safety he had felt the first time he came. He sighed happily and breathed in the scent of rosemary and freshly baked bread. Then he promptly collapsed in a chair. He hadn’t realized till then how tired he was.

  “Look at you! Half asleep and hungry, to be sure,” said Cathleen. “But first things first! There’s someone here you’ll want to see straightaway. And you might want to have yourself a bath while you’re at it. You don’t have to. . . . It’s just a suggestion, mind, but . . . you do smell a bit ripe, if you know what I mean.”

  Arthur laughed. It had been ages since he’d thought something was funny. “I’m sure I smell exactly like where I’ve been living the past two weeks,” he said. “In the sewers. I’d love a bath, Mrs. Oakley. And of course I’d like to see Pinecone too.”

  “Lovely. But please call me Cathleen. My husband will show you where to go.” She poked her head inside one of the cubbyholes and said, “Markus, you dressed yet? Come out and show our guests where to go. They’ll be needing to freshen up before breakfast. And you-know-who is anxious to see Arthur, so get a move on, husband!”

  “Right!” said a voice from behind the curtain, and a short, stout man with wild red curly hair appeared. “Follow me, if you please. Name’s Markus, by the way. No formalities allowed at the Ol’ Oakley Inn!”

  Mr. Oakley led Arthur and Peevil to a bubbling hot spring not far from their tree. “It’s shallow, so don’t worry none,” said Pinecone’s father. “You won’t sink. Here’s a towel, and something clean to change into. They’re Pinecone’s and should fit you. And take your time. There’ll be breakfast waiting for you when you return.”

  It was almost dawn and still dark outside, but the spring was lit up with the last fireflies of night and bioluminescent moths circling above. And someone had put bunches of lavender in the water, which made it smell divine. But to Arthur, the best thing of all was seeing who was splashing around in the middle of the spring. It wasn’t a small boy in patchwork green but a brown wingless bird with a long yellow beak, squawking with delight.

  “Trinket!” cried Arthur. He dashed to the water’s edge and hopped right in, clothes and all, with Peevil still inside his pocket.

  “Yikes!” Arthur
screamed, and scrambled back out. “That’s hot!”

  “No kidding!” squeaked Peevil. “Let me down right now! My tail’s on fire!”

  “Oh, sorry, Peevil!” said Arthur. He placed the mouse gently on the ground.

  “Arthur!” said Trinket. “I can’t believe it’s you! You made it!” She added, “Just go slowly. You’ll get used to the heat, don’t worry. It’s quite lovely once you do! And you got yourself a pet! What a cute little mouse!”

  “She thinks I’m — I’m a pet? And cute? I’ll show her how cute I can be!” said Peevil, fuming.

  “How simply adorable! It’s squeaking!” said Trinket with delight. “I love that. Do you still have Merlyn, the one I made you?”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later,” said Arthur. “But first, Peevil’s not my pet. He’s a very brave and noble mouse. And you should know that he can understand everything you say.”

  “I certainly can!” piped up Peevil.

  “She meant no harm,” said Arthur to Peevil. “Really.”

  “Oh, my! Please tell him I didn’t mean it at all!” said Trinket. “I’m terribly sorry.”

  Arthur introduced his two friends properly and said he would happily translate from then on to prevent any further misunderstanding.

  Peevil was still sulking and refused to go back in the water. He sat by the edge of the spring and cleaned himself off with a moist fern frond and a pawful of pine duff. Afterward, he lay on his back and stared up at the stars, which helped his mood a little.

  “How did you get here?” Arthur asked Trinket, as he eased himself slowly into the bubbling water. “How did you know where I’d be?”

  “It all started with your friend Quintus,” said Trinket.

  “Quintus?”

  “I got your message, so I knew where you lived — by the way, how’d you like that invention, Arthur? I think the pigeon my uncle and I built is champion, don’t you? Anyway, after I went to Wildered Manor, I searched for you in Gloomintown.”

  “You went to Gloomintown?”

  “Well, I certainly wasn’t going to let my best friend get stuck in a sewer, was I? That is the worst, most disgusting place in the whole wide world! I don’t know how you lasted as long as you did.”

  Arthur listened intently while Trinket went on with her story, splashing about with her winglets at the most exciting parts.

  Quintus had told her how Wire and his minions destroyed Phoebe Nightingale’s house and stole the Songcatcher, and how Arthur had been accused of the crime. “There are wanted posters for you everywhere!” said Trinket. “They’re calling you a rabid, violent criminal! It’s awful. Anyway, Quintus told me there were only two ways to get to Gloomintown. I went through the train station. No way was I going to fly down a drainpipe! People just thought I was a regular old bird. It was actually quite easy, now that I have a new flying suit. I can’t wait to show it to you later!

  “By the time I found the dreadful place where you were staying — I had to bribe some truly awful Badger, by the way — there were three Weasels in the hole, and you were long gone. I didn’t know what else to do, so I flew here. I figured it was worth a try.”

  After Gloomintown, Trinket sent a message via her mechanical pigeon to Wildered Manor. “I told Quintus where I was going and promised I’d let him know whether I found you. He was pretty worried. I told him about Miss Carbunkle’s plot too. I found out about it from the Wombat in the hole next to yours. Lucky for us he likes to eavesdrop on his neighbors! Anyway, Quintus sent the pigeon back saying that if this thing is ever cleared up, you are welcome back to Wildered Manor. He felt very bad about making you go. I know he’s a Rat, but he’s got a good heart.”

  “I know,” said Arthur.

  “If you’re ready, let’s go inside now,” said Trinket. “I’ve been boiling in this water so long, I feel like someone is making me into soup. Peevil? Shall we go? And I am truly sorry for calling you Arthur’s pet.”

  Peevil nodded, and all was forgiven.

  After they dried themselves off, Arthur slipped behind a bush and changed into Pinecone’s clothes. He loved how colorful they were, and how soft they felt against his fur compared to the rough gray cloth of his own clothes. But he’d have to return to the Home in his old ones so that he could blend in.

  Dawn was breaking, and Arthur could see a patch of pink-and-golden light glinting through the forest canopy as they made their way back to Pinecone’s tree.

  The table was set for breakfast: scrambled eggs, fried mushrooms, toast with butter and gooseberry jam, goat cheese tarts, sliced apples — and a little bowl of seeds for Trinket. Mrs. Oakley was bustling around the kitchen, while at the big round table sat Pinecone and the rest of his family: his brothers Ash, Barkley, and Buckthorn (Bucky for short); his sisters Chestnut and Hazel; his father, Markus; and “the Captain,” Nana Eunice.

  Pinecone could barely contain himself. He jumped up on his chair and, wielding an imaginary sword, proclaimed, “Hear ye, hear ye, Knights of the Round Table! Hear ye, hear ye!”

  Everyone looked up at the little boy dressed in green. He was now swinging his invisible sword in circles around his head.

  “Hear ye what, you little pine nut?” said his older brother Bucky. “Make your proclamation already so we can eat.”

  “Oh, okay,” said Pinecone. He cleared his throat. “Welcome, gallant knights from . . . from afar! We shall break bread before our noble quest!”

  Pinecone sat back down and stuffed a fistful of apple slices into his mouth. Everyone clapped and commenced with breakfast.

  “I like this young fellow,” said Peevil to Arthur. “He’s got the right idea.”

  After the meal, Trinket showed everyone her new flying suit.

  It had lightweight detachable wings that connected to a tail. She still had a propeller helmet, but her heavy clockwork armor was gone. “If there’s a breeze, I don’t even need the propeller at all. I can show you how it works later, but now it’s time to talk about the plan. I can’t wait to hear it!” She hopped up and down a couple times. “Arthur? The Plan!”

  “Uh, yes. The Plan,” began Arthur. “The thing is . . . Well, the thing is that there is no plan. No plan at all.” He looked down at his feet.

  “No plan?”

  “I’m sorry, Trinket. All I could think of was how to get here. That was hard enough.” He looked around the room at everyone. “Does anyone here have an idea what we should do? Because I certainly don’t.”

  After a short pause, everyone began talking at once. The main problem was still how to get from Pinecone’s house to the Home in time to stop Miss Carbunkle, if they even could stop her. Without Belisha, they had no means of transport. Mr. Oakley said, “We do have a small peddler’s cart, and we used to have an old goat to pull it, but I pull it meself now, see?”

  And then there was the problem of how to stop her. One thing they all agreed on was that they had to steal the Songcatcher back, nab the plans, and get out of there.

  Arthur and Trinket came to the conclusion that there was no way around it — they were going to have to walk all the way back to the Home. But maybe, just maybe, some kind soul in a horse and buggy or donkey cart would help them along the way.

  Trinket said that once they got there, she could at least carry Arthur and Peevil long enough to fly over the Wall. Once inside the grounds, they would search for the Songcatcher and the plans.

  “I have a feeling they’re either in her office or the cellar,” said Arthur. “So, any ideas on how not to get caught? Anyone?”

  Everyone sat waiting for someone else to speak. Then, from the middle of the table, Peevil began squeaking nonstop.

  “Hang on, Peevil,” said Arthur. “You’re talking too fast. What did you say?”

  “Let’s see . . . I’ll be needing a sword, that’s for sure,” said Peevil.

  When Arthur translated, Pinecone got very excited and began jumping up and down, exclaiming, “It’s the gathering of the Knights! At
the Round Table! And I’m . . . I’m . . . Sir Galahad! Hooray!”

  “Right,” said Arthur. “Got that.” Then, to the others, “Can someone help with Peevil’s sword?”

  “I’ll help you, brave knight!” cried Pinecone. “For King and Country!”

  “Pinecone, please keep your voice down,” said his mother. She looked at the mouse. “Peevil, I have just the thing for your sword. What else do you need?”

  “Tell her a helmet. I’ll definitely need a helmet.”

  “A helmet, right. One sword and one helmet,” said Arthur. “As soon as we’re finished here, we can figure that out. So, any other ideas? Anyone? How will we get around the orphanage without being seen?”

  “I shall slay anyone in my path!” declared Pinecone, who started running around the table, pretending he was battling numerous villains.

  “Pinecone,” said his mother. She looked at him sternly. “If you can’t control yourself, you’ll have to go to your room.”

  “Excuse me,” piped up Peevil, although he was squeaking so intensely, he sounded to everyone else like he was being tortured by a cat. “I’ll obviously need a shield too. And then . . .”

  “Peevil,” said Arthur, “can’t you see we’re in a bit of a muddle here? We still don’t have a proper plan. Can you please wait and tell me everything all at once when we’re through?”

  “Shall I write it all down in a list?” asked Peevil, a bit miffed.

  “Mice can write?” asked Arthur.

  “Of course we can write! We’re not stupid.”

  Finally, they pieced together the bare bones of a plan, and then the three travelers went right to bed, even though the day had just begun. They were all very tired and had a long journey ahead of them. Mrs. Oakley promised she would wake them up in time to play a little with Pinecone before they left. She assured Peevil that she would gather all of his knightly apparel before their departure. Mr. Oakley was in charge of supplies and provisions. Arthur, Peevil, and Trinket would have to figure out the rest on the way there.