The Unadoptables

by Hana Tooke

  A draft howled in through a wall, and then the smoke was gone and so was the shadow. Egg’s elbow bashed her arm, and Milou tore her gaze from the floor. Fenna was looking at her expectantly.

  “And this is Fenna,” Milou croaked.

  “I’m assuming Fenna is also an ideal child with impressive parentage?” Rotman asked.

  There was cold amusement in his voice, Milou realized. As if he were laughing at her. As if he found her . . . ridiculous.

  Milou stared at Rotman hard for a moment, trying to work him out. He certainly dressed like a rich merchant: extravagantly. His features were neither handsome nor repellent, but there were deep lines on his forehead, as if he spent a lot of time frowning. And his hands were clean and looked soft, which, Milou thought, was odd for a seafaring merchant.

  Rotman stared right back, unsmiling.

  Milou’s ears tingled uncomfortably.

  “Fenna is the sweetest girl in all of Amsterdam,” Milou said finally, clearing her throat and making sure she held the merchant’s gaze. “She doesn’t talk, but this is only because her parents were probably mime artists from London. She doesn’t smile often either, but when she does it’s like an entire galaxy is twinkling in her eyes. She makes the best breakfast cake you could ever hope to taste. I imagine a cook would be very useful on a ship, sir.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Rotman said blandly, his mustachio twitching yet again.

  To Milou’s surprise, Fenna lifted her gaze to the merchant’s and gave him a timid smile.

  He puffed out another mouthful of smoke. “What delightful little creatures you have raised, Matron.”

  Milou looked from him to the matron, to the once-again-quivering shadow that was now wrapping itself around the merchant’s ankles. The matron looked thoroughly pleased with herself, and Rotman’s smile remained unmoving.

  It was a parody of a smile, Milou realized, much like the matron’s: all teeth and no soul.

  Something was wrong, but she couldn’t work out what.

  “And what about you then?” Rotman asked. “What delightful skills do you have, young lady?”

  “Me?” Milou said, her voice ragged. She lowered her chin and tilting her head just so, blinking up through spider lashes. “I’m the most irredeemably monstrous child you could ever have the misfortune of meeting, sir. You wouldn’t want a child like me. Also, I think you smell funny, so I don’t think I’d like you much as a father.”

  Her friends gasped.

  The matron’s eyes widened in fury.

  Rotman tipped his head back and laughed.

  It was a strange laugh: like a seagull. And it seemed to go on forever. In which time, an unshakable worry had settled over Milou like an itchy blanket.

  Rotman did not behave like any adopter she had ever met before. He did not coo over them. His smile, and his laugh, seemed . . . wrong. He was looking at them in the same manner that Gassbeek did: as though they were things. Creatures, he had called them. Why would a man who so obviously did not like children want to adopt a child?

  “Pieter!” Rotman said, holding his hand out toward the younger man. “Pass me a handkerchief, would you?”

  Pieter reached into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a white handkerchief, then held it out for Rotman to take. Milou saw that there were scratches all up the younger man’s arms. Some were scabbed over, some seemed fresher. As if sensing Milou’s gaze, Pieter quickly put his arms back behind himself and went back to staring at his feet.

  As Rotman’s chuckling subsided, Milou noticed her shadow was still twitching and stretching outward, pooling thickly at the merchant’s boots. Her ears tingled. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Her Sense had never failed to warn her of danger before, but now it seemed to be trying to warn her more urgently.

  “Well, Matron,” Rotman said, wiping a tear of mirth away with his handkerchief. “I am most impressed. It is just as you said, the most remarkable orphans I have ever come across.”

  Gassbeek preened at his words, and Milou felt queasy.

  “Now.” He clapped his hands together. “I suppose I must choose which of you I shall take home. My ship, De Zeehond, is spectacular. It is the fastest vessel in all of Europe and has sailed every ocean in the world. It might be an unusual home, but I guarantee it will be an adventurous one.”

  “Would I really get to travel?” Egg asked.

  “Oh yes,” Rotman said, smirking. “We will travel to places you’ve never even heard of.”

  “What about a mother?” Sem asked. The hope in his voice made Milou’s heart ache.

  Rotman’s mustachio twitched again. “You will have a female . . . guardian. Her name is Dolly.”

  Pieter’s shoulders immediately stiffened, Milou noticed. The others were looking at Rotman with awe-filled gazes and hopeful smiles. They didn’t seem to notice anything strange about him.

  “It is such an impossible choice you give me, Matron,” Rotman said, taking another long drag on his pipe, blowing it out in a thick and disgusting plume right in their faces.

  As the oily cloud of smoke dissipated, Milou realized the merchant was staring at her. He smiled that odd smile of his. Then he gave her a wink.

  “I suppose I shall just have to adopt all five of them.”

  FIVE

  MILOU STARED AT THE others. In the flickering light, their smiles were wide enough to swallow the moon. She clung to her cat puppet.

  He wanted all five of them?

  He wanted to adopt . . . her?

  Milou blinked up at him. She wanted to say something, anything, to make him change his mind and leave, but her tongue felt too heavy to move.

  “Are you . . . sure?” Gassbeek squawked, her expression one of utter shock. “You want . . . all of them?”

  “Oh yes, I’m quite serious, Matron,” Rotman said, his smile gone. “This little girl has convinced me, well and truly, that these children are perfect. In fact, I find them all adorable.”

  He said “adorable” in the same way that someone might describe a bad smell. He was, Milou decided, a terrible performer, uncommitted and sloppy.

  A six-fingered hand grabbed Milou’s and gave it a little shake. Lotta gave her a delighted smile. She wrapped her arms around Milou’s middle. “Oh, Milou,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

  Milou opened her mouth to respond, but all that escaped her lips was a strangled croak.

  “Well,” Gassbeek spluttered, her mouth flapping open, then closed, “that’s marvelous!”

  Rotman took another long drag on his pipe. In the cloud that erupted around them, Milou watched her shadow tremble. Her ears didn’t tingle, they burned icily. Milou felt a wave of panic wash over her. This was wrong, all wrong.

  What had she done?

  “Pieter!” Rotman barked, snapping his bejeweled fingers at his apprentice. “Go and ready the carriage while I discuss the transaction with the matron.”

  Milou sidestepped to get out of Pieter’s way as he strode swiftly and silently from the room, the scratches up his arms hidden once more.

  “Kindjes,” Gassbeek said. “Go and pack your belongings. Wait in the schoolroom until I call you down. Meneer Rotman, we have much to discuss. Please follow me to my office.”

  Without a backward glance, Gassbeek and Rotman strode out of the dining hall, toward the Forbidden Quarters, leaving a trail of oily smoke and five stunned, silent orphans in their wake. Down the hallway, the grandfather clock donged once to mark the half hour.

  “I don’t believe it!” Sem said happily.

  “Neither do I.” Egg grinned. “We’re going to travel!”

  Lotta beamed up at Milou. “We’re free, all thanks to you!”

  Fenna let out a tiny giggle, no louder than a hiccup.

  But Milou shook her head. “No. We can’t leave with him. He doesn’t like childre
n.”

  Lotta frowned. “What are you talking about? He’s just offered to adopt all five of us. That suggests he likes children very much. Five times as much as your average adopter, in fact.”

  “He’s not what he seems,” Milou insisted. “There’s something wrong about him. I’m not quite sure what, but he was definitely not telling the truth. Perhaps he’s a pirate, or a smuggler. He might even be worse than the matron.”

  “Enough with your theories.” Egg let out a sigh. “Milou, I know you thought your parents would come for you if you stayed long enough, but you don’t have a choice anymore. This is our only way safely out of here. That doesn’t mean you have to give up. Perhaps Meneer Rotman can help you find them, like he’ll help me find my real home. He seems nice.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” Milou said. “I think his apprentice is scared of him. Pieter barely looked up from the floor. And did you see the scratches on his arms? They were the kind you might get in a sword fight. Or from a whipping.”

  “Milou,” Lotta said. “You’re being dramatic. And why are you rubbing your ears like that?”

  “You know why. My Sense has been warning me. I thought at first it was telling me not to anger the matron by speaking up, but then I realized it was Rotman it wanted me to be wary of. That man is the very definition of creepy. Dangerous, even.”

  “Holy Gouda.” Lotta rolled her eyes. “Not that again. Your ears do not have magical danger sensors, Milou. It’s scientifically implausible.”

  “Why would he come so late at night, if he wasn’t up to no good?” Milou said. “And why wouldn’t Gassbeek have the other orphans come down, too? She looked so smug, as if there was some secret that we weren’t in on. This whole lineup is what’s implausible. Adopting all five of us? The most unadoptable children in all of Amsterdam.”

  “He requested the oldest ones,” Egg said.

  “No adopter has ever requested the older ones,” Milou said. “Not once.”

  Milou saw it. The tiniest flicker of doubt in Lotta’s eyes.

  “And no adopter has ever called us a transaction,” Milou added. “That’s a business word, not a parenting word.”

  Sem’s eyebrows furrowed.

  “This is silly,” Egg said. “Let’s just get our things and wait in the schoolroom like the matron told us.”

  He turned back toward the foyer, tugging Fenna and Sem along with him.

  “No adopter has ever said we are adorable,” Milou called after them.

  It was Fenna who faltered this time.

  “Something’s not right about him,” Milou pleaded. “You have to believe me.”

  “Milou, you have no proof that he’s lying,” Egg said, turning to glare at her. “All you have is a wild imagination that always gets us into trouble. We aren’t in one of your spooky stories now. This is real life. And this is the first time we’ve been offered a chance at a real home. I’m not giving it up because your ears told you we should.”

  And just like that, the others turned away too. Reluctantly, Milou followed them into the gloomy darkness of the foyer. She looked back to the hallway that led to the Forbidden Quarters. Soon, Rotman would have the paperwork he needed to take the five of them away, to whatever fate he had in mind for them. She had to do something. But what?

  Milou could still see the wispy trail of oily smoke leading beyond that red line, past the iron plaque on the wall that read: NO ORPHANS BEYOND THIS POINT. Beneath the last curls of smoke, she thought she saw a thin, finger-shaped shadow, pointing shakily over the red line.

  “If it’s proof you need,” Milou called, as her friends began climbing the stairs, “then I’ll get you proof.”

  Sem turned, his eyes widening as he realized what she was about to do. In three long strides he was down the stairs and reaching for her, but Milou had already crossed the hallway and stepped over the red line. Sem hovered on the threshold, reaching out to her, and the others appeared behind him.

  “Milou,” Lotta whispered. “You can’t. If Gassbeek catches you—”

  “Any punishment would be worth it to prove to you that his promises are emptier than our hungry bellies,” Milou said. “He may have convinced you with his pretty words, but I don’t trust him.”

  Sem reached for her again. “Please, Milou—”

  She took three backward steps down the corridor before he could grab her. The others stood on the other side of the line, too scared to step over it. Fenna shook her head at Milou, pleading with worried eyes.

  “I promise I’m not overreacting,” Milou said. “And I would never lie to you. But if you don’t believe me, then I’ll have to convince you.”

  MILOU’S BOOK OF THEORIES

  The “Secret Spy” Theory

  My parents are spies. They were posing as undertakers that night (coffin basket), when they were attacked by an assailant with a metal hand (claw marks). One of them was injured (blood drops), and narrowly missed having their arm ripped off (snagged white thread). They climbed to safety (rooftop). Worried that I might get hurt (babies do not make very good spies), they decided to leave me somewhere until it was safe to return for me (orphanage).

  For them to have been gone this long, they would have an extremely dangerous mission, like keeping the young Princess Wilhelmina safe from an evil villain, perhaps. I haven’t heard any of our neighbors gossiping about this, but that’s the thing about spying, it’s all top secret. Spies are stealthy and brave. They do the jobs no one else dares do, to protect others.

  SIX

  THE ORPHANS OF THE Little Tulip had often discussed what might lie beyond the shadowed hallway of the Forbidden Quarters. The only thing they knew for certain was that the matron’s chambers were situated in the only place no orphan had been before: deep down in the Little Tulip’s underbelly. Milou’s theories ranged from a dark dungeon filled with rodent skeletons floating in glass tanks to a factory that turned rat hides into pointed leather boots, polished crimson with mouse blood. No one had ever been stupid enough, or brave enough, to step over the red line to find out.

  Until now.

  The only thing keeping Milou’s heart from bursting out of her rib cage was the fact that she had her Sense to help her. In the pipe smoke that still curled down the entire length of the long, dark corridor, that thin shadowy finger seemed to keep beckoning her forward. Milou tiptoed, one hand running against the wall to steady herself, the other clutching her puppet, toward a thin strip of flickering light at the far end.

  She had to do this.

  Onward she crept, until finally she reached the small flickering oil lamp, beneath which lay a wooden staircase that spiraled down into a gloomy abyss. Milou flinched as the first step creaked beneath her. Her breath stuttered as the second one groaned, but she knew turning back was not an option. The spiral stairs wove down and down, drawing Milou toward who-knew-what, until she finally emerged in another hallway. She stopped on the threshold. Dumbstruck.

  It was as long as all the orphanage’s many hallways, but twice as wide. The walls were covered in a blue-and-white floral wallpaper; no peeling paint in sight. Along one wall there were two large bookcases filled with ornaments, and a chest of drawers with an elegant oil lamp placed on top. On the opposite wall were three doorways, the furthest of which was outlined by a ring of light. Next to the stairwell was a coat stand, laden with fur coats. The air was warm and toasty, filled with the scent of burning coal.

  No skeletons. No glass tanks. No cold.

  As the heat seeped into Milou’s frozen limbs, fury began to burn inside her. How could the matron let them freeze and suffer above, while living a life of luxury right beneath them?

  In the walls beside her and under the floorboards, Milou could hear the telltale pitter-patter of small, rodenty feet, the sort that sent Gassbeek into fits of terror. It seemed she wasn’t the only thing making its way toward the cozy w
armth of the matron’s office. Milou felt a tiny twinge of satisfaction that Gassbeek was, through her own sheer greediness, provoking her own phobia by luring the very creatures she feared so greatly toward her private quarters.

  It wasn’t enough to dull Milou’s rage, however, and she swallowed down an angry lump in her throat. The warmth of the hallway wrapped around her shoulders and ankles, drawing her toward the furthest door. She crept up to the very edge of the doorway and pressed her ear against it.

  “You drive a hard bargain, Matron,” Rotman was saying. Milou heard him blow out a puff of smoke. “You want money and my help in exterminating your rodent infestation? That was not in the advertisement.”

  “The rats are all over the house now,” Gassbeek said, her voice tinged with barely contained panic. “I cannot . . . bear the foul creatures. I hear ships are often riddled too; you must have a better solution than traps that don’t work. Furthermore, I should think it a bargain considering you’re getting five able-bodied workers out of this. Had I known you would take them all, I would have asked sooner. It is merely a favor I ask of you, in honor of our new partnership.”

  Partnership? Milou’s fingers gripped her cat puppet tightly.

  “Not to mention that taking on multiple new apprentices every year will rouse immense suspicion against you,” Gassbeek continued. “Especially if the Kinderbureau were to investigate and find those children had all . . . vanished. I am the only matron in Amsterdam who is not only capable of, but willing to eliminate that suspicion for you, Meneer Rotman.”

  “Oh? And how will you do that?”

  “How I do it is none of your concern. You need only worry about paying me adequately to do it.”

  “Very well, I will return to the city docks this evening and send my rat exterminator to you. Though it is probably best that your other orphans don’t meet Dolly. No point frightening them.”