“Well, duh!” said Alex. “We’re the Peregrine Pact, remember? Of course we’re going to rescue him.”
“With or without the council’s help?” asked Rich.
“Not sure yet,” said Darwen. “What have the students been told?”
“Melissa Young said that Mr. Peregrine had to go home early,” said Rich. “Family emergency.”
Darwen sighed. He had been morose all morning, and it wasn’t just because they were heading back to regular classes and a comparatively cold Atlanta winter. His mind was full of questions, some of them so unsettling that he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answers.
“Look at him,” said Alex to Rich, “like his goldfish died. You should be celebrating, man. You know what we pulled off last night? We stopped Greyling! We saved the jungle—”
“Rainforest,” inserted Rich.
“You do that one more time,” snapped Alex, “and I’ll slap you till you squeal. Hand to God.” She turned back to Darwen. “You listening? We turned the pouncels on Scarlett Murray or whatever we call her eel-headed self, and we saved a bunch of kids. You should be—”
“Right chuffed?” Darwen supplied.
“Exactly,” said Alex. “Oh, and guess what?”
“What?” said Rich.
“Sarita told me that now that Scarlett’s development plans have fallen through, some of the families are going to move back.”
“I’m surprised you involved the local kids,” said Darwen. “I thought you would keep it within the Peregrine Pact.”
Alex shrugged. “It was their fight too,” she said. “In some ways, more than ours.”
“What do they say about what happened?” asked Darwen.
“They’re sort of rolling with it,” Alex said, frowning. “It’s weird. They didn’t know about the portals and stuff, but they aren’t exactly surprised to find out that they were there and that there were monsters coming through them. I don’t think they’ll be bringing in the big-city reporters or anything. They’ll just get on with their lives. Speaking of which,” she added, turning to Rich, “you said they didn’t have anything beyond the rainforest and their past. The shattered remnants of a once noble history, remember?”
“So?” said Rich.
“So it’s not true,” she said. “They have each other. They have family, which means more to them than anything. They showed that last night.”
Darwen nodded. Family. He felt the word like a warm spot in a cold bed, and for a moment he was jealous of them.
“Anyway,” said Rich, “if the reporters do come, there’s nothing for them to see. The scrobbler engines never made it through. The portals don’t work anymore. Whatever got destroyed in the warehouse last night, it messed up the gates. Even the circle of stones under the zip line closed up right after we came out of it.”
“You know what this means,” said Darwen softly.
“What?” said Rich.
“It might be just us. Rescuing Mr. Peregrine, protecting Silbrica, defending our world against Greyling’s invasion. We might have to do all of it by ourselves, without the Guardians’ help, possibly even . . .”
His voice trailed off.
“Against them?” said Alex. “Not sure I like the sound of that.”
“No,” said Rich. “That would not be good.”
Alex raised her eyebrows at the understatement.
“Hi, Chip,” said Rich, cutting her off.
The tall, good-looking black boy was walking down from the dining shelter with his bags. He slowed, and his eyes narrowed as he saw them. He looked uncertain, suspicious.
“So,” said Rich breezily. “Interesting trip, huh?”
Chip Whittley just stood there, looking at them. “Last night,” he stammered. “That place. Where . . . ? What . . . ?”
Darwen tensed.
Fortunately the previous night wasn’t the only thing on Chip’s mind. Chip looked at them, then turned and stared at the ocean. At last his gaze fell on Alex, then dropped to the ground. “Listen,” he said, his voice low. “About that butterfly . . .” The words dried up, and he stood rigid, his fists clenched, eyes staring at a tiny hermit crab in the grass.
“What about it?” said Alex.
Chip looked up, and Darwen was amazed to see that his eyes shone with unshed tears, but at the same moment there were sounds of people coming down the path. Nathan and Barry, with Genevieve and Melissa at their heels.
Panic crossed Chip’s face.
“What’s going on here?” asked Nathan. “Saying goodbye to the jungle creatures, Chip?”
Chip blinked, and for the briefest moment, Darwen thought he saw a spasm of anguish in the boy’s face before it set into its usual haughty confidence. “Something like that,” he said, turning back to Nathan. “Come on. I want to get a good place in the boat.”
Together they walked down to the beach, leaving Darwen, Rich, and Alex by the tent.
“So close,” said Alex. “For a second there he was nearly human. Ah well.”
“After what he went through,” Rich exclaimed, “how can he just go back to being . . . like himself?”
“Easier this way,” said Alex. “And besides, now I can go back to hating him. The trip has brought me clarity.”
“That’s not all you got out of this trip,” said Rich grudgingly. “You’re a mirroculist too. I still can’t see through the mirrors, let alone open them, but you two . . .”
“Maybe it’s just here,” said Alex, shrugging. “Maybe something about those stones rubbed off on me. We’ll have to test it when we get back. If all I can see through Darwen’s oven door is Aunt Honoria’s apple pie, then I guess I’m not a real mirroculist after all.”
“You’re just saying that so I won’t feel left out,” said Rich.
“Partly,” said Alex. “And partly because I like saying ‘apple pie.’ Red beans and rice is all well and groovy, but I’m ready for some down-home cooking.”
“You won’t get it from Aunt Honoria,” said Darwen, shouldering his backpack. “She doesn’t cook.”
“You think the pouncels got out before the place blew?” asked Alex.
“Weazen said most of them made it,” said Darwen. “I take it the leader was the one you looked after?”
“And you said they were just animals,” said Alex. “There’s no just about it. Smart they were, and loyal. More than some people. Like Sasha. You reckon the Bleck knew what it was doing when it destroyed the generator?”
“I thought it was just mad,” said Darwen, “but maybe there was more to it.”
“And this Weazen character,” said Rich, “he’s a feisty little weasel, isn’t he?”
“I wouldn’t call him that if I were you,” said Darwen.
“You think we’ll see him again?” asked Rich.
“Definitely,” said Alex. “We have to find Mr. P. We’ll need whatever friends we still have.”
Darwen nodded. It could not be a coincidence that he had not been able to reach Moth. Greyling must have sealed her locus so that he couldn’t learn anything about what was happening from her. He would need to find a way in. “You think Weazen and the dellfeys will stand with us if it means going against the Guardians?” he asked.
“You really don’t get loyalty, do you, Darwen?” said Alex. “Of course they’ll stand with us. If you had a dog, you’d know.”
Rich was gazing along the shore path toward the village. People were coming. Mrs. Delgado, holding her daughter’s hand, and some of the village children. Sarita was with them, along with Felippe and his sister, Calida. Behind them were two boys, one whom they had called Gabriel—Eduardo—and his brother, Luis.
“We have come to say goodbye,” said Sarita. “And thank you.”
Mrs. Delgado stepped forward and
took Darwen’s hand. Into it she pressed a small stone sphere about the size of a baseball.
“What?” he said. “I can’t take this. I appreciate it and everything, but it belongs to you. To your people.”
As the woman continued to press it, nodding and smiling, Sarita spoke up. “It is not ancient,” she said. “Some of the villagers still make the stone balls to mark special places. They make them the old way. It takes a very long time. She wants you to have it.”
Darwen gazed at it. It was heavy and perfectly round.
“Thank you,” he said. “It is beautiful.”
Alex jabbered in Spanish, and the children laughed.
“What?” asked Rich and Darwen together.
“I was just thanking Felippe for that soccer shot to Scarlett’s head. I think it would have scored from the halfway line.”
Darwen and Rich shook Felippe’s hand.
“Too bad we never got to have a rematch,” said Darwen.
“Yes,” said Felippe. He added something in Spanish, and the kids laughed again.
“He said they went easy on you the first time,” said Alex.
Gabriel—Eduardo—stepped forward and offered Darwen his hand. “Can we speak in private?” he asked. He seemed older now, more confident and direct now that he had his true identity back.
Darwen flushed, then nodded. “Sure,” he said.
Darwen and the two brothers walked down to the beach in silence. A scarlet macaw flew up from one of the palm trees, calling, and Darwen found that such things still amazed him.
“I am sorry that I did not trust you,” said the boy formerly known as Gabriel. “Jorge told me that you might be dangerous, that you might not follow the Guardians’ wishes, and that I should hide who he was from you.” Eduardo paused, glancing down at his feet in shame. “I spied on you. I spilled the gasoline from the boat because he wanted to see what would come through the portals after dark. He wanted to see if you were right about the Bleck and if there was evidence of Greyling. He didn’t want to tell you about it, but he needed you there to open the portal if it appeared.” He inhaled, his breath catching in his throat. “I did not know how much danger I had put you in. I am sorry.”
“It’s okay,” said Darwen. Then a realization struck. “You wore that veil so that the local kids wouldn’t recognize you, didn’t you?”
Eduardo grinned and nodded, peeking at Luis for approval.
“I’ll bet you had a lot of explaining to do last night,” said Darwen.
“Not as much as you would think,” said Eduardo. “They are just happy that we are back. When the creature disguised as Mr. Peregrine gave you the portal, I recognized it, and I knew where it would take you because I had been there. It was a place in Silbrica where Jorge used to communicate with the Guardians. It would have exposed him. I reset the device. I think that made it open up in the last place it was used. Since Mr. Peregrine was one of those flesh-suit things, that probably put you in danger too.”
Darwen thought back to their nightmarish experience in the Jenkins house, but found himself shrugging. “It’s okay,” he said. “I would have probably just ended up in front of Greyling sooner. That’s what that fake Mr. Peregrine would have wanted.”
Eduardo nodded ruefully, and Darwen searched his face. “Tell me about how you became involved with the Guardians.”
“Everything I did,” said Eduardo, giving Darwen a level, piercing look, “I did to find my brother. I should have joined you, but I did not know that then. The Guardians came to me when I was lost, when the search for Luis had deprived me of my ability to think. They used me, but I had to trust them, because losing my brother was like losing a part of myself. It made me alone. You understand?”
Darwen nodded and looked down. He understood all too well.
Luis spoke up. “Thank you,” he said simply.
He looked embarrassed, unsure of himself, and it struck Darwen as strange that this was the first time they had spoken.
“I remembered your face,” said the boy, “from when the monster took me. When I was awake in the machine, when I could remember who I was, I thought of your face, and I thought you would come for me. I knew my brother would search for me too, so I had two. . . .” He sought for the word, then spoke quickly in Spanish.
Eduardo smiled and, clearly wishing he didn’t have to say it, completed his brother’s thought. “Heroes,” he said.
“Heroes,” Luis agreed.
Darwen smiled and—as much to change the subject as anything else—turned back to Eduardo. “Why were you with Chip?” he asked.
“The thing that said it was Mr. Peregrine was suspicious of me because I was always watching you and talking to Jorge,” said Eduardo. “I think it knew who I was. It said it wanted to show me something, something about the village children who had been taken. I didn’t trust him, but I had to see, so I took someone with me. I thought that if one of the Hillside students went missing, then you would go looking for him. It was . . . a mistake.”
“Why Chip?”
Eduardo flushed, ashamed of himself. “Because I thought that whoever went with me might never get out,” he said. He looked down and was about to say more when Alex yelled from the camp.
“They’re leaving!” she called.
The three boys nodded, relieved to rejoin the others.
“We will meet again, Darwen Arkwright,” said the boy they had called Gabriel. “I am sure of it.”
“I’d like that,” said Darwen.
They shook hands and said goodbye. Alex hugged everyone, then waved expansively as they walked back along the shore.
Darwen slipped the stone sphere into his backpack and said, “Okay. Is that everything?”
“Looks like,” said Rich. “I guess they’ll leave Mr. P’s stuff here.”
“I, for one, am not touching it,” said Alex. “And stop calling him Mr. P.”
“You’d rather I called him Mr. Jenkins?” said Rich.
“How about Swamp Thing?” said Alex. “Swampy for short. It suits his smell.”
“Those people suits they wear,” said Rich. “You think they have to fill them out with struts and wires and stuff, like you do when you stuff an animal?”
“When you what?” said Alex, giving him her beadiest stare.
“I have an uncle who’s an amateur taxidermist. He had this raccoon that he hit with his truck one night—”
“Fascinating though this story is sure to be,” Alex interjected, “I don’t need more details about the insides of animals and the exploits of your hillbilly family.”
“Who are you calling hillbillies?” Rich exclaimed.
And they were off, a squabble that lasted all the way to the boat, then back around the cove to the main village and halfway back to the airstrip.
Darwen gazed out of the jeep window as they forded a brown river, watching something that might have been a log and might have been a crocodile, and he grinned to himself. It had been an amazing trip, but he was ready for . . . home?
Well, Atlanta. The smile stayed on his lips, but faded from his eyes. He couldn’t keep thinking of his aunt’s apartment like it was a hotel in some place he was visiting for a while. England was part of his past. He might never return now, and if he did, it would be as a different person. Because it wasn’t just that he no longer had family there that would make a trip to Lancashire strange. He had changed. He knew it. What he had done last night would have been completely beyond him only a few months ago. Losing his parents and coming to America had torn him apart, but he had grown, strengthened in the process. His parents, he felt sure, would be proud of him.
He just wished they could see it.
Look, Dad, what I can do, he thought. Look, Mum. It looks like a mirror, but I can go through it. I can fight monsters too. I even
wiped the smile off that chuffin’ clown from Blackpool.
He wiped his eyes, grinning, and as he pictured the mayhem of those final moments in the warehouse, Scarlett’s parting words came back to him.
Ask him how he knew your name.
For a moment he had thought she meant Greyling, but that wasn’t right. Last night he had been thinking about rescuing Mr. Peregrine and had found himself remembering their first meeting in his shop just after Darwen had arrived in Atlanta. They had been talking about the shopkeeper’s old clock, which said only if it was day or night and was accurate up to about twenty seconds. Darwen had said that he was sure that was good enough, but the shopkeeper had turned that odd look of his on him and said, “Never be sure about such things. A lot can happen in twenty seconds, Mr. Arkwright.”
But Darwen had not told him his name.
It had struck him as odd at the time, but he had forgotten the moment entirely until last night. He was sure that was what Scarlett had meant, but how had she known about it, and why did she think it significant? And what did it mean that Alex had, at least for the time being, become what everyone said was impossible: a second mirroculist? He didn’t know why he put those two questions together, but in his gut he knew they were connected, that if he could find out more about what it was to be a Squint, he would be able to answer both questions. When he found the real Mr. Peregrine—and he would find him—he would have a lot of questions for the old shopkeeper.
That would have to wait. For now there was the wearying journey, which seemed a lot less exciting in this direction, and then getting home and getting clean—properly clean—for the first time in a week, and getting truly dry, and sleeping in his own bed.
He smiled again. It might not be home, exactly, not yet, but there was a lot to be said for his aunt’s Atlanta apartment.
“Now that I’m a mirroculist,” said Alex, “I think I should write a book about it. One day when I’m famous for saving the world, people will want to know all about my first experience as a Squint. I will call it Alexandra O’Connor and the Insidious Bleck.”
Darwen Arkwright and the Insidious Bleck Page 30