by Julie Berry
“So, I have a cricket arm. So what?”
Tom pulled out his little pouch and offered it to me. “Licorice?”
I bristled. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, offering me my own licorice, you villain!”
He only laughed. “I reckon I do.”
I took a length of licorice and bit into it. “Is that what you fed the owl?”
He popped a piece between his teeth. “Morris loves licorice.”
I chewed on mine. It was a good, hard, sticky one. Polly knows what I like.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
I sucked hard on the licorice to free up my stuck-together teeth. “Right about what?”
Tom popped another candy. “About you, and dresses. And adventures.”
I said nothing. I might hate dresses, but I didn’t like strange boys deciding I was a girl who hated dresses.
He smiled. “That’s why I think we should be partners.”
“I think you’re impertinent,” I said. “I’ve only barely met you, and you’ve already threatened to steal my djinni. You did steal my licorice. Now you want me to take you on as a partner? I don’t know where you get your nerve.”
Tom watched me with the same steady gaze as his owl. Maddening boy! He seemed to think he had all the time in the world to wait, and every confidence that I’d agree with him.
In fact, his proposal was an interesting one. I had everything to gain by bringing him into my wishes, and nothing to lose. Except my conscience. If I made him my partner, it’d be easier to keep an eye on him. And he might turn out to be useful. Already he’d proved himself to be watchful, daring, and good at getting in and out of places.
There was just one problem. I couldn’t promise to give the djinni to him when I was done with my wishes. Mermeros had made it clear—the spell that bound him didn’t work that way. When my last wish was done, Mermeros would vanish and magically reappear in some other place, perhaps halfway around the world. Perhaps he’d occupy a teapot in a China, or a chamber pot in America. That would serve him right, the arrogant old sardine.
But, again, Tom didn’t know that. And if he thought we had this deal going, he’d stop trying to rob me.
That’s not sporting, Maeve, said the little voice in my head that tries to ruin all my fun.
But what did “sporting” have to do with djinnis? If I didn’t agree to the boy’s deal, he’d probably rob me of Mermeros here and now.
What should I say to this persistent orphan boy?
I decided to put off answering.
“I’m not promising anything,” I said at last. “But I will take you on my next adventure. Whenever that should be. Which I haven’t decided yet.”
Tom eased Morris onto his shoulder, then rose, and held out his hand. I got up and shook his. It all felt so solemn somehow and, therefore, quite ridiculous.
“Why not now?”
Chapter 11
“You’re mad!” I cried.
Tom grinned. “Nothing of the sort.”
I remembered my sardine tin, lying on the cot in plain sight, and sat back down in a hurry.
“I’m not wasting a wish on a flighty impulse,” I said. “Three’s all I get. I have some very specific goals in mind, and I aim to use my wishes well. There’s no getting them back.”
He rubbed his hands together. “No, but tonight you’ve doubled your measure of wishes. That’s nearly as good.”
I hadn’t said that. I hadn’t agreed to exactly that. But that’s how he understood the bargain. Oh, dear. If I corrected him, the battle would be on again.
You’re on very spongy soil here, said my nagging inner voice. Such a killjoy.
Morris began nosing his beak through Tom’s hair, as though he thought he might find a tasty mouse hidden inside. Tom didn’t even seem to notice.
His eyes grew wide with excitement. “Why don’t you get your friend?” he said. “The girl who shares your room? Bring her along, too. You trust her. I can tell you do. She can join the club. Then, when my wishes are done, I’ll pass the djinni along to her! It’ll be like we each get nine wishes.”
“The girl who shares my room!” I fumed. “You can tell that I trust her? What, do you know everything about me? Have you followed me home to meet my parents, too?”
I thought I saw the faintest flicker of his eyelids then—a sort of twitch, when I mentioned parents. I could’ve kicked myself in the shins for such a thoughtless slip. I may not trust the sardine-and-licorice robber, but for pity’s sake, he was an orphan.
The flinch, if there was one, vanished. “Your bedroom window is in good view from my dormitory,” Tom said.
“I’ll thank you not to spy on me!”
“Close your curtains more often… Ow, Morris!”
The owl had tweaked him in the ear. Tom decided he was done carrying him around on his shoulder like Long John Silver’s parrot, and slid him off onto my cot. The bird hobbled back and forth between his left and right feet, then hunkered down with his head low between his shoulders. Time for an owl nap. My cot had become his, apparently. At least he should keep the rats away for a while.
Tom grabbed his candle from the floor, then seized my hand and dragged me toward the rear of the cellar. I pulled away from him and retrieved my little bundle of belongings, including the sardine tin, then followed along after him. He took my hand again and steered me through the dark, cluttered cellar. Tom’s hand was wiry and tough, covered with calluses. My past experience with boys’ hands was limited to times when their knuckles were plastered across my jaw.
Church bells rang out nine o’clock as we emerged out from the outside cellar door, which Tom had pried open, and up the stairs to street level. Only Miss Salamanca’s bedroom windows showed any light. Through the blinds, I saw her silhouetted form bent over her writing desk. No doubt she was writing the seventh draft of an apologetic letter to Mr. Treazleton. Or perhaps she was writing shabby romantic poetry. What if she was writing shabby romantic poems intended for Mr. Treazleton? Now there was a tantalizing thought.
“Put out your candle or Miss Salamanca will see us,” I whispered. Tom snuffed the wick between his finger and thumb.
A ghostly glow surrounded each streetlamp in the cloudy, damp night. The city itself seemed draped in a gray fleece of window-lit fog. I would have preferred a blacker night, but it couldn’t be helped.
“There’s my window.” I pointed to one on the second story. “Alice has turned the light off. She’s probably asleep already.”
“I know it’s your window, silly,” said Tom. “I climbed that downspout pipe when I left you a note.” He indicated the long iron pipe that siphoned rainwater off the roof and away from the house. I had never noticed before how close it ran to my bedroom window. “Shall I climb up and tell her to come down?”
I tied my bundle of things securely inside my handkerchief and cinched the bundle to my waist. “Don’t be daft,” I said. “If you poke your head in our bedroom window, Alice will scream for half of London to hear. Leave this to me.” I seized the drainpipe and examined the brick wall for toeholds.
I’d climbed ropes and poles back home well enough, but then I could wrap my legs and feet around and hold on. Here, I’d have only my fingers to grab the pipe and only my toes to jam into the gaps between bricks.
Suddenly, the second story looked awfully high up.
I could feel Tom’s eyes watching me. I wouldn’t let him see me hesitate. I grasped the pipe and hoisted myself a foot or so off the ground.
The pipe shifted slightly. I could feel it straining against the brackets holding it in place. My toes found a gap, and I exhaled in deep relief.
“You sure you want to do this?” said Tom.
“Quiet,” I hissed. “Less of your chatter.”
“I’m not chattering.”
I ventured one hand high
er up the pipe. “Shut up!”
The light from Miss Salamanca’s bedroom window cast a weak glow upon my exploits. We could not afford to risk making noise that she might hear.
I climbed another arm’s length, and then another. Each time, just as I thought surely my fingers would give out, my feet found a place to hold on. With each victory my confidence rose. Better still, the windowsill drew closer and closer.
I managed to peek down and see Tom watching me intently. I was now directly above him.
“Look away, pig,” I called, but softly. “I’m in skirts.”
He snorted in disgust and looked away. “I wasn’t looking at you.”
“Yes, you were.”
“Not like that!”
“Shh!”
I knew he wasn’t, in fact. But I had to make a firm point of where I stood. Once a boy named Alphonse back in Luton made the mistake of thinking I was fond of him because I praised his cricket batting, and tried to catch me unaware and kiss me after church. I gave him a whack on his shins for it, and he steered clear after that. In case this Tom was another Alphonse, I felt it best to put him on alert.
My fingers were burning and my arm muscles screaming by the time I reached our bedroom window, but reach it I did. Opening it would be another tricky matter, as I had to lean over just a bit too far for comfort to raise the sash. The sash didn’t want to be raised. Alice must have thrown the lock. Of course she did, after Tom left his note on my bed. Everything was his fault! If he hadn’t poked his flaming-red head into my business, I’d be fast asleep tonight in my soft, warm bed, dreaming of my next wish.
I made one last attempt to raise the sash and nearly toppled off the drainpipe. I righted myself and clung tight while I tried to catch my breath. I could hear Tom’s feet shuffling down below. Did the idiot think he could catch me if I fell?
I took a desperate chance. I leaned over and tapped gently on the windowpane. Tap, tap, tap.
I waited.
A spark of light appeared inside the room. Good. Alice was awake, though probably terrified. Poor girl. She was the sort of person who always had safety matches and a candle within reach.
Tap, tap, tap. I prayed she wouldn’t scream.
Her face appeared in the window. She held her candle close to the glass and squinted out at me. I had a lovely view of her nostrils while I waited for her to figure out what she was seeing. Her mouth formed a great O, and she set down her candle and fumbled with the window. Wood against wood squealed terribly when the sash rose.
“Maeve!” Alice whispered. “What are you doing?”
“Hush, and help me in,” I said. “I can explain.”
Alice leaned out the window and reached for me with both arms. “You’ll break your neck! Is that a boy down there?”
I gripped her forearm tightly with one hand, then took a leap of faith and grabbed at her with my other hand. Alice didn’t weigh much. I swung out in her grip underneath the window.
She gasped as she felt my full weight.
“Brace yourself!” I cried. “Lean against the wall!”
My toes found a foothold in the brick, and I climbed slowly up the outer wall, until Alice had pulled my hands inside the window and I could rest my elbows on the sill.
There was another squeal of wood against wood. I twisted my neck to see Miss Salamanca, in her nightcap, tugging her bedroom window open.
“Pull me in!” I whispered. “Snuff the candle!”
“You! Orphan boy!” cried Miss Salamanca. “What are you doing loitering about? Begone with you. Your masters will hear about this!”
Alice gritted her teeth and made a mighty heave. I tumbled through the window and toppled onto her, where she’d collapsed onto the floor.
“Constable!” came Miss Salamanca’s voice from below. “A vagrant orphan is menacing and spying on my sleeping students!”
What rubbish. I crawled to the window and peeped over the sill, just enough to see Tom running off through the dark alleyway that separated our building from his. A police whistle blew, and a stout officer took off loping after Tom.
I reached up and carefully, slowly pulled our bedroom window shut. So much for tonight’s wish. I’d gone to all that trouble to escape for nothing. Now I’d have to find my way back to the cellar without getting caught.
Tom was on his own, but I had a feeling he’d manage. The headmistress couldn’t have seen his face, could she? Not well, anyway. I owed him one, I supposed. Miss Salamanca was too busy noticing him to see what I’d been up to, one story up.
Which made twice today—first Mr. Treazleton’s horse and footman, and now this window incident—that Tom had taken the blame for something he hadn’t done.
How convenient it was, having orphans and beggars and foreigners in London. There was always someone lower down the ladder whom we could punish for fun and force, when needed, to carry our guilt.
Chapter 12
“What were you thinking, Maeve?” Alice chided me. “You could have been killed, and at the rate you’re going, you’re almost certain to be expelled.”
Lying in bed felt heavenly, especially in a bed that was one hundred percent devoid of rats.
“I know you probably wouldn’t mind leaving this school,” Alice went on, “but I would miss you terribly. If I can’t be at home with my grandparents, you’re the only thing making this wretched place bearable.”
I smiled in the darkness. “Alice Bromley, you are much too good a soul. I don’t deserve you as a friend.”
Alice sniffed. “I wish you wouldn’t say I’m so good all the time. It makes me uncomfortable. You just don’t know.” She hesitated. “I’m capable of extremely wicked thoughts.”
I rolled over on one side. “Such as?”
I could hear her breathing quicken. “One time,” she whispered, “Miss Guntherson received a letter from a gentleman. The delivery came during class. She sat reading it at her desk when we were supposed to be working out our conjugations. Then Miss Rosewater called her out of the room for some urgent matter, so Miss Guntherson dismissed us early for recess. I lingered behind, and when the other girls had left the room, I wandered over to her desk and came extremely close to reading her letter.”
I had to stuff my pillow over my face to muffle my laughter.
“Oh, you’re wicked,” I snorted. “Positively evil.”
Alice sounded offended. “Just because I don’t punch people like you do doesn’t mean I’m always good.”
“You’ll never convince me, Alice,” I said. “Your story rings false on many levels. For one thing, there’s no man alive that would write a letter to Miss Guntherson.”
“That’s not nice. Although…I did get close enough to see the envelope was also signed ‘Guntherson.’ So, it must have been from a relative.”
I could feel sleep starting to tingle throughout my toes. After such a day as this, surely I could just stay there. Couldn’t I? I didn’t bother with a nightdress, but settled down comfortably under my sheets and blankets.
“Good night, Alice.”
“Good night, Maeve.”
I lay in the dark, drifting off to sleep, planning my next wish. As for the timing, when to do it, I figured I’d just have to bide my time and wait for the right opportunity. When it appeared, I would know.
I don’t know how long I’d slept—some hours, surely—when sounds roused me. I sat up in bed.
“What’s that?” Alice fumbled for, then lit, another match.
I threw back my bedclothes and hurried to the window.
Sure enough, there was Tom. I opened the window and pulled Tom in.
“You can’t let him in here, Maeve!” Alice hissed. She dove for her robe. “A boy in our room? We just can’t!”
“It’s all right, Alice.” I heaved Tom in through the casement. “He’s my friend.”
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br /> It was too late to unsay it. I saw Tom grin. Well, that was it, then. In my book, once you call someone friend, you stick with it forever. Unless they turn out to be a Theresa Treazleton or a kissing Alphonse. I’m loyal, but even my loyalty has its limits.
“What time is it?” I said, still shaking off my heavy sleep.
“Four in the morning,” Tom said. “More or less.”
I stared at him. He seemed offensively wide awake, and cheerful. Alice, on the other hand, looked like the living dead, and doubly so for her horror at this most unwelcome intrusion.
“Who?” she stammered. “What? How?”
Of course! Alice knew nothing about Tom. I’d had no chance to explain anything to her.
“My name’s Tom,” our visitor said, offering a hand to Alice. She had shrunk back away from him, but after a moment’s pause, her politeness won out over her fear.
She shook his hand. “I’m Alice.”
He grinned. “You can call me Tommy.”
So, he came back. I wondered if he’d slept at all. And now here we were together, with hours to go before anyone might notice us missing.
The time I’d be waiting for was now.
“You have Tommy to thank for insisting that we all go on this adventure together,” I told Alice, just to make conversation. Alice looked deeply unsure if that was cause for thanks or not.
“We’re going on an adventure?” Alice stammered. “At four in the morning? With a boy?”
Tom rubbed his hands together, then pulled a small pack off his back. “Well, where to, then, Maeve?” He emptied the contents of his pack onto the floor. Out tumbled a length of rope, a knife, candles, matches, and the canteen of water he’d used before. “I stopped back at the home to get some supplies for our trip. You never know what you might need.”
“You move in and out of there awfully easily,” I said. “Aren’t there headmasters or wardens who enforce the rules? Haven’t you got a curfew?”
Tom laughed, and Alice shushed him.