by Tad Williams
“Like she was even paying attention.” Lucinda pushed damp hair out of her eyes. “All she wanted was to go off to her singles thing.”
Tyler just shrugged. A lot of what Lucinda complained about was true, but what could you do about it? Life was rotten if you were a kid. Grown-ups just did what they wanted, then said it was for your own good. You could go nuts worrying about it or you could concentrate on something more interesting. He reached into his pocket for his GameBoss, then stopped.
He had been hearing the strange sound for a few moments, a clop-clop-clopping that reminded him of something on television. Westerns, old Westerns, the kind his father forced him to watch on their weekend visits, thinking that Tyler liked them too. He didn’t, but there was no purpose in saying anything, because if he said he didn’t want to watch the movies Dad would just take him to the park or something, and stand around smoking and watching Tyler pretend to play on the jungle gym like he was still a little kid. Worse, they might go out to have a meal and Dad would pretend to be really interested in who Tyler’s friends were and make him answer questions about what he was learning in school.
As if.
Clop, clop, clop.
“There’s a horse out there,” Tyler said.
“What?” Lucinda was looking around furiously as if Uncle Gideon, the flaming-cow man, was suddenly going to appear in the middle of the tiny station.
“A horse. Out there in the street, I guess. I can hear a horse.”
“You’re crazy.” But she followed him out to the little street outside and its few rundown houses with their fences leaning every way but straight up and down.
There was indeed a horse-a big brown horse, standing in the street outside the station, and it was attached to some kind of huge wagon piled high with sacks. A very strange-looking man sat on a bench at the front of the wagon, holding the horse’s reins and looking out at them from under the brim of an ancient straw hat. He had very tanned skin, a thin, hooked nose, and a puff of gray beard on his chin. His eyes were mostly hidden in the shade of his wide-brimmed hat.
“You are Tyler and Lucinda?” His accent made the words bump in the wrong places, like someone pretending to be a funny foreigner on television. “Get up on the cart, please.”
“Are you… are you Uncle Gideon?” Tyler asked at last.
The man shook his head slowly. “No, no. Not me. I am Mr. Walkwell. I work for him.” He climbed down and tossed the kids’ heavy suitcases into the wagon and onto the sacks piled there as if they were pillows. Tyler couldn’t help noticing that this Mr. Walkwell guy had very small feet. He wore little old-fashioned boots that laced up and looked like they should belong to a child, not a tall man. He also walked with an awkward two-footed limp, as though he were treading barefoot over broken glass. Just to make things stranger still, his boots made a weird crunching noise with each step. Tyler looked at Lucinda. She looked back. “Somebody has the wrong name,” she whispered.
Mr. Walkwell swung himself back up onto the seat and gave them a sour look, as though he knew what they were thinking. “Get in.” He had strange eyes, too, very red around the edges, as though he had been swimming. Also, the centers seemed more yellow than brown.
“Do we sit on the bench next to you?” Tyler asked.
“Better, I think, than if you sit on top of the feed bags,” said Mr. Walkwell, his voice dry as the air. “They slide.”
Tyler clambered up. Halfway he began to lose his balance, but the bearded man reached down and wrapped his thin, strong brown fingers around Tyler’s wrist and lifted him up to the seat as easily as if Tyler was a loaf of bread. When Lucinda had climbed up too, Mr. Walkwell clucked once to the horse and the cart moved off. That was the last sound the man made until they were well outside of town.
Not only was this guy talkative and charming, Tyler thought, he smelled too. It wasn’t a rancid smell, though, just… strong. He smelled like sweat and dry grass and… and animals, Tyler decided, among other things. Well, that made sense for someone who worked on a farm, didn’t it?
After something like a quarter-hour of rolling slowly along past yellow fields, they turned off the main road onto a wide dirt track. This new road wound up through golden hills spotted with trees until the last bends disappeared in rocky high ground that kept rising beyond them.
“Where’s the farm?” he asked.
“In the valley on the other side of the hills,” said Mr. Walkwell.
“It’s a long way. Why didn’t you bring a car?”
He turned and gave Tyler a look that was downright unfriendly. “No. I do not like those noisy machines. They are unnatural.”
Lucinda groaned. Tyler almost did the same. The farm was beginning to look like a very bad bet for television and other modern conveniences. He tried not to think about the horror of being unable to recharge his GameBoss Portable for an entire summer.
As they crossed the crest of the hill they came out of the trees and saw Standard Valley stretched before them, carpeted with golden meadows, walled here and in the far distance with tree-covered hills that were surprisingly high, just a little short of being mountains. Below them wound a stripe that flashed silver in the afternoon sunlight-a river. In the very far distance, like a wall at the edge of the world, loomed some true mountains, the Sierras. The valley looked like something out of an oil painting. A nice one.
“Wow,” said Tyler. “It’s… ”
“It’s beautiful.” Lucinda sounded surprised. Mr. Walkwell smiled for the first time, which brought a whole different look to the old man’s weathered brown face, something charming and wild, the grin of a rascally pirate. He flapped the reins against the horse’s back and they started down.
Soon they could hear the sound of the river, a gentle rush like wind in the treetops. The meadows they passed looked like there should be cows in them, but there were none to be seen anywhere, or pigs, or, in fact, anything farmlike at all.
“Where are the animals?” asked Tyler. For a moment he wondered if it was the kind of farm that only grew cauliflower or something, but Uncle Gideon had definitely sent them a book about cows-about some kind of cows, anyway-and besides, they weren’t seeing any asparagus fields, either.
“You can’t see them from here,” the old man said, then looked up at the empty sky. “But perhaps some of them are watching you.”
Tyler and Lucinda exchanged another worried look.
As they neared the bottom of the hills, the road turned away from the river and mounted a low prominence. From the top they could see what had lain hidden near the base of the high ridge.
“It’s… it’s huge!” Lucinda said quietly.
Tyler had never seen anything like it. A cluster of wooden buildings stretched below them, connected by walkways and gardens, all wrapped around a gigantic wooden mansion several stories high in places, a sprawling pile of roofs and walls, with balconies and oddly shaped windows and even a tower on one side of it that looked a little like a wooden lighthouse. The hodgepodge of buildings was painted way too many colors to make sense, mostly reds and yellows and light brown and white, and it all looked like someone had created a gigantic space station out of really old buildings, then set it down carefully here in the middle of nowhere. Tyler could only stare. “What is it?” he said at last.
“That?” said Mr. Walkwell. “That is the house. That is Ordinary Farm.”
“It’s like something on television!” Lucinda whispered to Tyler as Mr. Walkwell drove the cart toward the huge, ramshackle farmhouse. “Like Survivor: Transylvania.”
“Or a game,” he said. “ Castle Gorefest, with ghouls in the towers and dungeons full of canker-monsters.”
Whatever it looked like, it certainly wasn’t what Lucinda had expected. Instead of a boring old farmhouse with a red barn or something, this place looked like someone had started with a normal farmhouse a long time ago, but just decided for some reason to keep on going, adding bits and pieces like a hyperactive kid who had been given seve
ral extra sets of Lego and was intent on using them all.
“Who built this weird house?” Tyler asked.
“Octavio Tinker,” said Mr. Walkwell. He frowned, which brought something scary into his face. “You will keep respect in your voice for Ordinary Farm, and for those who have crossed the river. In his day Octavio Tinker was a very famous man-and a very, very wise man as well.”
Crossed the river? He decided it must be the strange-old-farm-guy way of saying “dead.” As far as the famous part went, however, he was impressed. But besides being famous, this Tinker guy must have been seriously weird-the house sure was. The pattern of it almost had the look of something natural, like a spiderweb or the coral in his science class aquarium, a spiraling of outbuildings, sheds, and odd square towers that swirled out from what was clearly the main house at the front and center of the property.
They rolled down and around the long half circle of driveway. The farm buildings and the different parts of the house seemed to face in a dozen separate directions, as if they had been set in place almost at random. The afternoon sun bounced back from the windows in unexpected ways that made Tyler feel dazzled and a little sick. Nearly at the center of the ring of odd structures, almost a hundred yards away from the sprawling front of the house, stood something that looked like it belonged in a psycho-killer movie, a gray wooden building several stories high with a big pipe slanting down from near the top, and no windows.
“Check out the haunted house,” he whispered to Lucinda from behind his hand. “Who do you think lives there, Freddy Krueger?”
“Or maybe the Friday the 13th guy,” Lucinda whispered back.
“It is a grain silo, but it is not being used,” Mr. Walkwell informed him. “I do not know the names you say. No one lives there. And it is a dangerous place for children. Mr. Goldring will be very angry if you try to go there.”
They were so daunted by his sharp ears that they both stopped talking.
The wagon rumbled to a halt beside a long porch that ran along the front of the house but just stopped at both ends, as though it had once connected two other parts of the main building that weren’t there anymore. The huge front door was surrounded by panels of stained glass.
“Get off, now,” said Mr. Walkwell, as if he had been waiting patiently for quite long enough.
The children jumped down, still looking around. As they climbed up onto the porch, some distance away a tractor towing a huge empty trailer appeared from around one corner of the house, putt-putting along not much faster than a person could walk as it headed out across the open space. The big bearded man driving it swung around in his seat when he saw them and waved to Mr. Walkwell. “I took her to the Sick Barn!” he shouted.
Mr. Walkwell raised his hand to show the man he’d heard. “That is Ragnar,” he told them. “You will come to know him well.”
“Ragnar? Wow,” said Tyler. “Sounds like some barbarian hero out of RuneQuest. And put who in the Sick Barn? Was it one of the animals? One of the cows?” He felt like he’d been holding in the questions for days. “And what’s up with the cows here, anyway-do they catch on fire all the time or something?”
Mr. Walkwell stared at him for a moment, then pointed a brown finger toward the front door. “Mrs. Needle waits for you there. She will take you to Mr. Goldring, your uncle. Save your questions for him.”
Tyler was feeling a little better-the tractor showed that there was some technology on the farm, whether Mr. Walkwell liked the stuff or not. All Tyler really needed was enough electricity to recharge the GameBoss. And this Mrs. Needle-he could tell she would be a plump, kindly little old lady like Mrs. Santa Claus from some children’s Christmas special. She’d greet them with cookies and lemonade and say “My goodness!” a lot.
The front door swung open before they could knock, revealing a young man with a thin pale face. He wore a white short-sleeved shirt and gray slacks, as though his parents had just forced him to dress up for church. His thick black hair had been combed down with water at some point, but was beginning to pull loose into funny crooked tufts.
“Ah,” he said. “You must be the children.”
Tyler didn’t like his superior expression, and he sure didn’t like being called a child, either. “Yeah? Who are you?”
The young man’s eyebrow rose, as though questions were rude. “My name is Colin.” He couldn’t be much more than Lucinda’s age, Tyler guessed, but he seemed older because he was tall and because of his weird grown-up clothes and the stiff way he stood.
“We’re supposed to talk to Mrs. Needle.”
“That’s my mother. She’s very busy right now, but I suppose I can take you to her.” He stepped aside, beckoning them in as though he too was very busy and was just making some time for them out of kindness. He didn’t offer to help with the suitcases.
Tyler was taken aback by the size of the entrance hall-it seemed more like the lobby of some old hotel. A big black iron chandelier with dozens of bulbs hung from the high ceiling-so there was electricity, at least-and the walls were covered with striped pale green wallpaper and old museumy paintings of people and landscapes. Padded benches and overstuffed sofas with flowery upholstery stood against every wall, framing close to a dozen doors leading off this huge front room. The center of the hall was dominated by a long staircase that forked upward to the left and right.
“ Sound of Music, ” Lucinda said softly.
“What?”
“You remember, the kids singing? It was on a staircase like that.”
Tyler rolled his eyes. That had been his sister’s favorite movie, not his. Still, he couldn’t help being impressed by the staircase, not because it looked like it was waiting for the Von Trapp kids, but because he now saw that each set of stairs ended flat against the wall-no hallways, no landings, no doors. The grand staircase led precisely nowhere.
“This way,” Colin told them.
Tyler leaned toward his sister. “Scooby-Doo, where are you?” he whispered, grinning, but Lucinda was looking a little sickly and didn’t seem to enjoy his joke.
Colin led them all the way to the back of the hall and opened a door. The room beyond was a kitchen three or four times the size of their living room at home. The noises of pans clanking and water running rolled out. Several people seemed to be working there, but Tyler couldn’t quite see any of them past Colin.
“Mother,” he announced, “the children are here.”
A moment later a woman in a rather old-fashioned cotton dress walked out, letting the door fall shut behind her so that the lively kitchen scene suddenly vanished. Her black hair was as long and straight as a girl’s, her skin even paler than her son’s, both of which made it hard to guess her age. She was pretty in a thin, sharp-boned way, but it was her gray-blue eyes that made her extraordinary, Tyler realized-eyes so intense they almost glittered.
For a long moment the woman examined the children as they examined her. At last she smiled. It wasn’t the most cheerful smile Tyler had ever seen, more like the kind teachers gave you when you made a joke about why your homework was late.
“Welcome to Ordinary Farm, children,” she said. “I am Patience Needle, Mr. Goldring’s assistant and the housekeeper at Ordinary Farm. I will be in charge of you whilst you are staying with us.”
“Cool. So when do we see some animals?” Tyler asked.
Her smile went away for a second, but when it returned it seemed entirely friendly and natural. Mrs. Needle’s English accent made her sound like one of those classy television actresses on public television. “Those details are up to Mr. Goldring, of course,” she said. “But I am sure he will want to show you the farm soon enough.”
“Where is he?” said Lucinda. “Our uncle, I mean. Great-uncle.”
“I’m afraid he’s not feeling well today, otherwise he would have been down to meet you. He asked me to send his apologies. Colin will show you up to your rooms.”
“ Mother,” Colin said, as though he’d been asked to carry th
em on his shoulders. “I have things to do.”
“Then you can do them after you show Lucinda and Tyler to their rooms. I’m very busy, Colin, with Gideon ill. Run along.”
Mother and son looked at each other. Colin turned away first. “Fine. Follow me.” He stalked through a door on the other side of the room and let it bang shut behind him.
When they followed, Lucinda and Tyler found a steep staircase looming behind the door. At the top was a hallway covered with sweet-smelling wood panels. Tyler climbed the stairs and asked, “So, what kind of animals do you have here, besides cows? Horses? Chickens?”
“I don’t work with the animals,” said Colin as the corridor turned first one way, then another, closed doors standing on either side like sentries. “I’m modernizing the systems.” His superior tone had returned.
Yeah, thought Tyler. Horse and wagon picking up the guests. Nice job so far.
They came to a new corridor, dark despite the dim electric lights every few yards that filled the hall with long, jittering shadows. The bulbs were so ancient and flickery that they looked like they had been in place here since Edison invented them.
“This house really is crazy,” muttered Tyler.
“It was built by a genius.” Colin actually sounded angry, like Tyler had called him crazy. “Octavio Tinker was one of the greatest scientific minds of all time. Very few people can even begin to understand his work. He was your mother’s great-uncle. She’s a Tinker, right? And if you’re lucky enough-” He stopped suddenly, two angry spots of red high on his cheeks. Tyler thought how weird it was that this gangly, dark-haired kid knew more about their family relations than they did. Tyler opened his mouth to ask about this, but Colin cut him off like a slammed door. He turned right suddenly and led them into a final, very short hallway that ended in a wall with a window in it.
Two doors faced each other across the hall. Lucinda dropped her suitcase and went to look out the window. There was a flowering cherry tree at one side-the prettiest of a number of trees in front of their windows-and a gigantic white concrete building in the far distance. The strange building looked like a tube half-sunk in the ground. Tyler, gazing out too, wondered what it was-a hangar or a bomb shelter of some sort? It was like something that had dropped from the sky, landing with a titanic crash and kicking up earth all around.