“What?” said Miss Harvey. “I would really prefer that you stay—”
“I will go with them,” said Mr. Peregrine, appearing from the kitchen end of the dining shelter in a bathrobe so long it looked like a cloak. He was holding one of the battery-powered lanterns above his head, and his gray hair shone softly in the light so that he looked for a moment like a figure from a stained-glass window, saintly and powerful.
“Very well,” said Miss Harvey.
Rich and Darwen set off at a run, not bothering to wait for Mr. Peregrine.
Darwen felt suddenly responsible for Gabriel, to whom he had been—it was suddenly clear—a lousy friend. The kid knew no one, had been tacked onto a group who had been together for one semester already, a group that had proceeded to ignore him almost completely. Darwen and Rich had let him share a tent with them, and they had thought they were doing him a huge favor, but instead of keeping an eye on him, helping him make friends, they had neglected him entirely.
There was a flash of movement in front of them. Darwen shone his flashlight ahead and caught a streak of motion, then another, then several all together.
He gasped and took a step backward.
The cat-headed monkey-like creatures that Jorge had called pouncels—a pack of them, maybe ten or fifteen, all about the size of German shepherds. One of them stopped with uncanny control and turned to face him, snarling. Its head was smaller than a jaguar’s, but not by much, and its bared teeth were long and sharp. It had glassy yellow eyes with vertical black pupils. The creature spread its clawed paws, each with one overlarge and deadly looking talon, and lowered its head as if about to spring. It put out its tongue and hissed, a long, slow rasping sound that raised the hair on the back of Darwen’s neck.
And then, as Darwen stood rooted to the spot, it took off, racing after the others in a long bound that took it out of Darwen’s flashlight beam and into the night. In no more than a second, they had gone.
“Whoa,” said Rich. He looked pale in the lamplight and badly scared.
“Still think they’re too small to bring down a tapir?” asked Darwen.
Rich shook his head briskly, mouth closed and eyes wide. Mr. Peregrine was coming down the path behind them.
“Slow down,” he said. “I’m supposed to be escorting you.”
“Did you see them?” Darwen demanded.
“See what?”
“The pouncels!” said Rich and Darwen at the same time.
“The what?”
“Pouncels,” said Darwen. “Like the figurines Jorge showed us! There was a pack of them right here in the camp. They must be working for the Bleck.”
Mr. Peregrine shushed them, hurriedly looking over his shoulder.
“Show a little discretion,” he said in a whisper. “We came looking for Mr. Cabrera. And here he is.”
Dazed and bleary-eyed, Gabriel was emerging from their tent. He looked tired but also embarrassed and alarmed. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Where is everyone?”
“Didn’t you hear the shots?” asked Darwen.
“Shots? What shots?” said Gabriel. “I was asleep, I think.”
“In your clothes?” said Rich.
“I was tired,” said Gabriel. He sounded weary, and Darwen thought he was on the verge of tears. It all seemed quite clear to him now. The boy felt abandoned and alone. He’d probably been in the tent for ages, miserable and homesick. Getting to sleep would have been a relief.
“Come on,” Darwen said as kindly as he could. “We’ll get you up to the dining shelter. Let me get my pack of cards, and we can play until they figure out what happened.”
He put an arm around the boy’s shoulders, but Gabriel flinched, and Darwen let him be. Darwen knew what it was like to feel different, an outsider, and he also knew that a sudden outpouring of pity wasn’t the answer. Instead he stuck his head in the tent, grabbed the playing cards from his bag, and zipped the tent closed.
They moved up to the dining shelter, and there was a rush of noise as the others saw them approach.
“Why didn’t you come when you were called?” Miss Harvey wanted to know.
Alex looked ready to scold Gabriel, but Darwen caught her eye, and, for once, she thought better of it. Darwen fished his cards from his back pocket and prepared to deal.
“Okay, Gabriel,” he said. “What can you play? Blackjack? War? Whist?”
But Gabriel didn’t answer. Jorge had appeared with two of the local men who worked at the camp, one of whom had been watching the soccer match the day before. It was this heavyset man with a thin black mustache who was cradling the rifle. Jorge was talking quickly to Miss Martinez, who was looking serious, and the man with the rifle was nodding and gesturing. Miss Martinez seemed doubtful. She leaned in, and Darwen thought he caught a word repeated back to the man with the rifle: demonio?
The man nodded emphatically. Jorge shook his head and waved the word away, but the man with the gun rattled off a stream of irritated Spanish. Darwen turned to ask Gabriel what they were talking about, but the boy had slipped silently into a dark corner and was watching the debate closely.
“I don’t care if he was attacked by a fire-breathing T. Rex,” Mr. Sumners roared, “shooting those stone balls you are all so fond of out of its nose: he cannot discharge a firearm this close to a camp full of children! Tell him.”
The squabble escalated. Miss Martinez shepherded the man with the gun away from the crimson-faced Mr. Sumners and spoke in soothing tones as Mr. Iverson tried to convince the students that the danger had been dealt with.
“But what did he shoot at?” Mad wanted to know.
“Probably a margay or an ocelot,” said Jorge. “He was protecting his livestock, but he should not shoot such creatures. I am sure the sound scared them off, and they will not return.”
“Them?” said Rich. “You said a margay or an ocelot.”
“He thinks he saw more than one,” said Jorge, gesturing hopelessly.
“Both of those are solitary hunters,” said Rich. “They wouldn’t attack in a group.”
“I think he was mistaken,” said Jorge.
“What does demonio mean?” asked Darwen.
“What?” said Jorge, clearly dodging the question. “I don’t think that’s what he meant.”
“It means demon,” said Carlos. Everyone went quiet. “Mr. Delgado—the man with the gun—said a pack of demons came out of the jungle and attacked his chickens. He shot at them, but they escaped.”
“Rainforest,” said Rich grudgingly. “A pack of demons came out of the rainforest.”
“Thanks,” said Nathan. “That makes much more sense.”
“All right, that’s enough,” said Miss Harvey. “Time for bed.”
There was a general sputter of exasperation, but several voices rang out louder than the rest.
“You think that Scarlett woman has already built any hotels around here?” said Princess Clarkson. “’Cause I’ve about had it with this place.”
“No way am I going to bed after all this,” called Melissa Young, who looked quite terrified.
“Bed?!” shouted Bobby Park. “With demons on the loose?”
“Mr. Park,” said Miss Harvey, very stern, “I personally give you my word that you will not be attacked by any mythical monsters in the night. You too, Miss Young. Bed. Quick march.”
Protests turned to groans, but several students were genuinely frightened. Miss Harvey relented a little and spent a few moments huddled with those who seemed least sure of returning to their tents. Only Darwen, Alex, and Rich held back, keen to learn what else they could overhear.
“Mr. Arkwright,” said Mr. Sumners. “You are, ahhh, still here. Why is that?”
“Waiting to go to the bathroom,” said Darwen.
“I c
an’t be sure from here,” said Mr. Sumners, smiling mirthlessly toward where Carlos was coming back down the trail, towel and toothbrush in hand, “but they seem to be vacant.”
“Only the ones with the toads, sir,” said Darwen, improvising. “I don’t like toads.”
“No,” said Mr. Sumners, bending and peering into his face with careful emphasis. “Neither do I.” He checked his watch. “Very well. I want you in bed in four minutes and not a second more. And walk!”
“Come on,” said Darwen to Rich, trudging up toward the bathrooms, casting one last look back to where Miss Martinez, Jorge, and the man with the rifle—now joined by Mr. Peregrine—continued to chatter in rapid Spanish.
“And you, Miss O’Connor,” said Mr. Sumners. “Or are you afraid of toads as well?”
“I never said I was afraid of ’em,” muttered Darwen as Alex fell into step beside him.
“Just his lucky guess then,” said Alex.
“What happened to Gabriel?” asked Rich, looking around. “One minute he was over there, the next . . .”
“He likes to keep to himself,” said Alex. “Didn’t even join in the soccer match. You didn’t notice?”
Darwen and Rich exchanged shamefaced looks.
Moments later they were brushing their teeth. Alex had been right. None of the students much liked the washrooms. They tended to go in groups and to get out as quickly as they could. It was only a matter of time, Melissa Young had said, before someone peed in their tent, because you’d have to be crazy to go up to the haunted washrooms alone at night. Darwen figured their fear had more to do with snakes than ghosts, but still . . . he understood their concern. He bent over the sink to spit. As he straightened up, it happened again.
It lasted only a second, but there, quite clearly, over his shoulder, as if standing right behind him . . .
The laughing face.
As before, it didn’t look quite real. More like a model, its eyes glassy and dead, its mouth gaping, showing white, even teeth.
Darwen spun around, and though there was nothing there, he was sure he could hear the wild laughter trailing away. And once more, in its wake, came the nudge of a memory that was just out of reach. That thing, whatever it was, he had seen it before, heard its laughter before, long ago.
“What?” asked Rich. He was looking at Darwen closely, and his voice was low.
“Nothing.” Darwen shrugged. “Just . . . I don’t know. Nothing.”
“Okay,” said Rich. “Fine.”
Rich thought he was keeping secrets. Remembering how put out they had been about him visiting Silbrica without them, Darwen relented.
“It’s stupid,” he said, putting his toothbrush away.
“Go on.”
“Well, it was only there for a second,” said Darwen. “Less. But it looked, sort of like . . . a clown.”
“A what?” said Rich. “Like a circus clown? Red nose and all that?”
“No,” Darwen answered, trying to fix on the details. “The face wasn’t made up or anything. And it wasn’t a real person. More like a model or a doll. Laughing.”
“Okay . . .” said Rich, looking uneasily at the mirror.
“I told you it was nothing,” said Darwen.
“A happy clown?” asked Rich hopefully.
“Kind of,” said Darwen apologetically. “More manic.”
Rich frowned.
“That’s gonna give me nightmares,” he said. “Not a big fan of clowns.”
“Me neither,” said Darwen, shuddering. “Let’s just . . . forget it, okay?”
“Fine by me,” said Rich.
Darwen splashed water on his face and, when he straightened up, managed not to look back into the mirror.
“What was all that about?” said Alex.
“Darwen thinks he saw—” Rich began.
“Nothing,” said Darwen. “I didn’t see anything.”
“If you’re keeping secrets from me . . .” Alex began.
Darwen turned to say something but stopped. There was confused movement down in the tent camp: running people, some of them shouting. Even from here Darwen could sense their panic, their fear.
Something had happened. Something new.
“Quick!” said Darwen, snatching up his things and hurrying down toward the commotion.
“You’ve got to hand it to Mr. P,” said Alex as the three of them hurried back the way they had come to see what was going on. “His trips are never dull.”
There were four of them: a young man, two teenage boys, and a girl. Darwen recognized the kids from the soccer game. One of them was Felippe, the boy who had scored the spectacular volley. He looked quite different now: urgent and anxious, and he was looking around like something might attack him at any minute. The young man was carrying a small ax. They made for the man with the rifle—Mr. Delgado—who was with Jorge and the teachers in the yellowish light of the generator lamp, and began speaking all at once.
There was a moment’s silence. Then the rifle slipped from Mr. Delgado’s grasp. It clattered to the ground, and for a moment he stood there, his hands clamped over his nose and mouth, frozen in some terrible rush of emotion.
They hadn’t seen Darwen, who had stuttered to a halt in the shadows behind the dining shelter. He pulled Alex and Rich in beside him. “What are they saying?” he asked.
“I’m trying to listen,” said Alex, shrugging out of Darwen’s grasp and pressing her head to the wooden upright.
The young man picked up the fallen rifle and started moving back the way they had come. The boys and the girl dragged Mr. Delgado after them, though he still seemed to be in a kind of daze.
“What’s wrong with him?” asked Rich.
“Quiet,” said Alex, her voice low, her face serious.
The teachers were muttering among themselves, then they broke hurriedly apart. Jorge went after the locals. Miss Harvey, Miss Martinez, and Mr. Iverson all went down to the tents. Mr. Sumners went into the makeshift office by the kitchen, and Mr. Peregrine sat at one of the tables, as if waiting.
“Well?” said Rich. “What’s going on?”
“Another kid has been taken,” said Alex. “A girl called Calida. Felippe’s sister. Right from her bed. They’re going there now.”
For a long moment no one spoke.
“It can’t be the pouncels,” said Rich. “We saw what they did to the tapir. They attack. They feed. They leave. They don’t kidnap.”
“Nice,” said Alex.
“Rich is right,” whispered Darwen. “The pouncels behave like . . . well, like animals. The thing I saw in Silbrica was different. It thinks. Maybe the Bleck is just using them to wreak havoc or drum up fear.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” said Alex.
“We should go the village,” said Darwen, ignoring her. “Look for tracks.”
“We’re supposed to be in bed,” said Rich.
“Yeah, sneaking around tonight of all nights seems like a really bad idea,” Alex agreed.
“Sumners has gone,” said Darwen. “I say we follow. Quietly.”
“No way,” said Rich.
“Come on,” said Darwen. “This is what we came for!”
“What is?” asked Alex.
“To learn what is happening here,” Darwen replied. “Another kid has been taken. We have to follow while the trail is fresh.”
“What trail?” asked Alex.
“We won’t know unless we look, will we?” Darwen shot back.
“I don’t know, Darwen . . .” Rich began.
“Look,” said Darwen, taking charge. “I’m going to follow them. You can come with me, or I can go alone. Your choice. But we’re supposed to be the Peregrine Pact, remember?”
Rich and Alex looked at
each other, then shrugged their halfhearted agreement.
“Okay,” said Darwen. “And no lights.”
“What?” hissed Rich. “Are you serious? There are snakes and God knows what else out here.”
“And if we run around with flashlights, they’ll catch us and send us back to bed before we’ve seen anything,” said Darwen. “Come on.”
Darwen knew that Rich and Alex were looking at each other, trying to decide whether to protest, but he went anyway, slipping into the darkness of the grounds. He could see Mr. Sumners sitting inside the little office, tapping anxiously on a desk, but he was sure they were invisible outside. He used the glow from the window to find the path and padded cautiously along it. As long as they were out in the open, there was enough light from the moon and stars to just about make out the way, but once they were under the trees, traipsing toward the tiny village, they really were in the dark.
“This is a bad idea, Darwen,” Rich muttered.
“Okay,” said Darwen. “One flashlight between us, pointed straight down. Keep close together.”
He snapped on the beam and aimed it at the leaf-strewn ground. Something skittered into the underbrush unseen.
“Okay,” said Alex. “Walk. Slowly.”
They moved cautiously through the forest, the warm air humming with insect noises and the otherworldly calls of frogs. Somewhere far off, something shrieked, but whether the creature that made the sound was human, animal, or bird, was from their world or the one beyond the mirrors, Darwen could not say. Rich could correct him as many times as he liked, but to Darwen this was and always would be the jungle.
“Just keep the light steady,” said Alex. “I saw something move over there.”
She tucked in her arms, and Darwen felt her shudder as a moth the size of his hand—so big he could actually hear the beating of its wings—fluttered inches past their heads, swooping at the flashlight. For a moment he thought of his dellfey friend, feeling a twinge of anxiety about why he had not been able to get back to her bamboo grove. He was considering this uneasily when he noticed horse hoof-prints in the rain-softened earth of the trail. There was nothing else to suggest anyone ever came this way except for the creatures that called the place home. To his right, Darwen could hear the waves breaking on the rocky portion of the shore and see the glow of the moon through the trees, but to his left, the jungle stretched for miles.
Darwen Arkwright and the Insidious Bleck Page 15