Furthermore

by Tahereh Mafi

  “Furthermore has been true to its founder’s wishes and deals with all kinds of visitors, magical and non-magical alike. But the twisty business of Furthermore attracts the wrong sorts of visitors. Few come to Furthermore in pursuit of decent pastures.” Oliver frowned. “And it doesn’t help that this land has been reckless with their magic. It’s a deeply unsteady, turbulent place, and its people have fractured into hundreds of smaller villages, each with its own rules and officials, and each with contradictory laws and confusing legislature. It’s a land rife with inconsistencies because the confusion suits their underhanded ways. But they burn through magic faster than the land can produce it and, in their desperation for more, they’re willing to do awful things.”

  “What kinds of awful things?” Alice asked.

  Oliver paused, then said. “Well—we live off the land in Ferenwood, don’t we? We are made more magical because of the fruits and plants and nuts we eat, are we not?”

  Alice nodded.

  “Right. So.” He cleared his throat. “In Furthermore, they eat more than just fruits and plants and nuts.”

  Alice nearly jumped to her feet. “I knew it!” she said. “That’s why they eat animals, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Oh, how awful!”

  “I’m afraid it’s much worse than that,” said Oliver quietly.

  “What?” Alice stalled. “What do you mean?”

  “Furthermore is very hungry for magic, Alice. And we—that is to say, you and I—are meant to be”—he hesitated—“well, we’re meant to be consumed.”

  Alice blinked and stared, confused.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Oliver said. “Consumed, Alice. They want to eat us. They will eat people for their magic. Though they do prefer to eat visitors,” he added. “Something about it being more compassionate that way. They’ll only eat their own in the most desperate situations. And in order to avoid these desperate situations, they’ve taken proactive measures.”

  Alice made a squeaking gasp of a sound.

  Oliver bit his thumb, deep in thought. “I suppose Furthermore is a lot like a series of increasingly complicated spiderwebs. Each village has a distinct way of catching its prey, which, well—you know.” He raised an eyebrow. “It makes it so it’s very difficult to stay alive here.”

  “How awful!” Alice cried. “Oh, I can’t imagine, I can’t even imagine—goodness,” she said, holding a hand to her chest, “I can’t breathe, can I? I’m sure I can’t breathe.”

  She was wrong, of course; she was entirely able to breathe, but Alice was scared, and so she was, for the moment at least, very short of breath. And it was then, as she struggled to right her breathing and keep from upsetting her stomach, that she decided she hated Furthermore more than she’d ever hated any place in her entire life. She was now fully terrified for Father, and she couldn’t imagine what horrors he’d already experienced.

  Oliver held out a hand to her. “Right,” he said. “Ready to finish up here?”

  Alice accepted his outstretched hand and, once on her feet, shook out her skirts and looked around at the slumbering darkness. She couldn’t trust anything anymore. She was sure this velvety night cloaked infinite secrets.

  “Oliver,” she said quietly.

  “Mm?” He was searching his pockets for something.

  “How do you know all this? All this history of Furthermore and Ferenwood? I don’t remember learning about any of it.”

  That held his attention.

  “No,” he said, looking up. “I didn’t learn any of it in Ferenwood. My friends in Furthermore taught me.”

  “You have friends in Furthermore?” Alice said, startled. “But I thought—”

  “There are good and bad in every bunch, aren’t there?” Oliver shrugged and resumed digging through his pockets. “I’ve seen many hearts here heavy with the loveliest secrets. Not everyone in Furthermore enjoys eating people, you know.”

  “But—”

  “I’m so sorry, Alice, but now we really must be going. We’ve already used up a great deal of time and any more than this would be a waste. I promise I’ll answer more of your questions when there’s time to spare.”

  “Alright,” she whispered, staring at their clasped hands. But then—“Can I ask just one more question?”

  Oliver sighed and smiled. “Yes?”

  “Is Father in very great danger?”

  Oliver’s smile wavered, and he would not answer immediately. He looked away before he spoke, and when he did, he only said, “It’s so good that you’ve come, Alice. We’ve needed you.”

  “We?”

  “Yes,” said Oliver. “Your father and I.”

  Shock shook her.

  “You’ve seen him?” Alice asked, grabbing Oliver’s shirt. “You’ve seen him?” She nearly burst into tears. “Oh, you’ve seen him, please tell me you’ve seen him—”

  “I—” Oliver said, swallowing hard. “That is—I mean, yes, I have.”

  “How was he? Did he look healthy? Did he say anything to you?”

  “Yes,” Oliver said. The stars were so bright behind him. The sky, so dark. “He spoke to me, but—only once.”

  “And?” Alice was impatient now. Terrified. Horrified. So happy. “What did he say?”

  Oliver looked down. “He told me to find you.”

  Alice stared at Oliver in stunned silence, just until the clouds shook and the moons flickered and the stars swayed in the sky. The air was changing, and Oliver noticed.

  He was in a hurry to get moving, but she was still numb, somehow. Still trying to process everything she couldn’t understand.

  Father had asked for her.

  Oh, it made her very knees tremble. It made her miss him more than ever. More in every moment.

  But then Oliver pulled a vial out of his pocket, and curiosity pushed her back into the present.

  “What’s that for?” she asked.

  “The sky has something we need,” he said, “so we must give it something it wants.”

  “What could a sky possibly want?” Alice wrapped her arms about herself and fought back a shiver as she spoke. She was suddenly cold. “That seems silly.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” he said, surprised. “Everything wants something.”

  And with that, he uncorked the vial and poured its contents upside down. It was too dark for her to see.

  “It’s dirt,” Oliver said, answering her silent question. “This stretch of sky,” he said, gesturing to the air around them, “will never touch the ground. It’s a prisoner, all alone, stuck here forever, always gazing down upon the land, always estranged from all the excitement.”

  Alice had never considered a lonely sky. It was a new thought for her, and she wanted to explore it, but then the wind snapped like a crack of lightning, and Alice and Oliver looked toward the sound. A book hung in the air, big and brown and leather-bound, and Oliver snatched it out of the sky, grabbing Alice’s hand in the process. Without a wink or a warning (or a sentence to spare on the matter), she and Oliver were sent crashing down. The weight of the book made them heavy; and though they fell far and hit the ground hard, they were only slightly bruised and out of breath upon landing. Alice opened her eyes to find their limbs tangled together, and she hurried to unhook herself from Oliver, drooping sideways as she stood up. It took her a few moments to find her head. Strangest of all: She wasn’t dead.

  “Why didn’t that kill us?” asked Alice, peering up at the sky. “We fell such a long way.”

  Oliver shrugged, dusting the dirt off his pant legs. “Falling down would be a tragically boring way to die in Furthermore. They’d never stand for it.”

  “Right,” said Alice, who wondered whether Oliver hadn’t gone a bit mad.

  Once they’d both recovered their footing, they turned their eyes to their prize.

  A pocketbook, Oliver had
said.

  But this was not that. And Alice told him so.

  “What do you mean?” Oliver asked. “Of course this is a pocketbook. What else could it be?”

  “A pocketbook is a ladies’ purse,” she said, tapping the book. “And this is not a ladies’ purse.”

  “A ladies’ what?” Oliver asked, frowning. “See now, I haven’t the faintest idea what nonsense they’re teaching to young people these days”—Oliver cracked open the cover—“but this,” he said, “this is indeed a pocketbook.”

  And so it was.

  It was a book. Where every page had a different pocket.

  Alice reached out, amazed, to touch one of the pockets, and Oliver jerked the book away from her.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, horrified.

  “I just wanted to—”

  “One does not simply reach into a pocket!”

  “Why not?”

  “What do you mean, why not?” Oliver looked absolutely ashamed of her. “What kind of manners were you raised with?”

  “Hey,” she said, stomping one foot. “That’s not fair. I have very good manners.”

  “Oh? And your mother taught you to go digging in other people’s pockets, then?”

  “No,” Alice said, going red in the face. Then, more quietly, “I didn’t realize they were other people’s pockets.”

  Oliver’s expression softened. “Have you never seen a pocketbook before?”

  Alice shook her head.

  Oliver’s voice was gentle and sad when he said, “I take it your mother’s hometeaching lessons were not very thorough?”

  “Not thorough at all,” she said, staring at her feet.

  “My apologies, Alice.” And he really did sound sorry.

  So she looked up.

  “Pocketbooks are full of other peoples’ pockets,” he said simply. “And one must not touch another person’s property without permission.”

  “That seems fair,” she said.

  Oliver nodded.

  “So how do we get permission?” she asked.

  “Well, we have to ask them, of course.”

  “All of them?”

  “Some of them,” he said, closing the book carefully.

  “Won’t you please let me look in the book?” Alice asked. “I promise I won’t pick any pockets. I’m only curious.”

  “I have to return this to a friend of mine,” he said, “so let’s wait until we’re in his presence. Besides, there’s very little light here, and it’s never safe when the sun comes out.”

  Alice stared at him. “You never told me that.”

  “I certainly tried to, didn’t I? Anyhow, now that we’ve got the pocketbook, we can turn our attention to other things. There are still a few items we need for our journey, so we’d better get a move on.”

  Alice rushed forward so eagerly she nearly tripped over her skirts. She trailed too close to Oliver and kept stepping on his heels. Alice was now rightly afraid of Furthermore and its hidden dangers (and if she had to choose between here or home, she’d choose home every time), but everything was so interesting here—so different, so suddenly terrifying—that it was somehow addicting. After all, Alice had known loss and loneliness and bone-deep sadness, but she’d never known anyone who’d wanted to eat her, and a small part of her wondered what that was like, too. The thing was—now that she’d had enough time to process the shock of it all—Alice found herself rather . . . flattered by the idea. Our young friend had been paid very few compliments in her life and, strange as it was, she was pleased to know that someone thought she’d make a fine meal. That had to mean she was high-quality magic, didn’t it? That had to mean she was made of something strong and sustainable. Didn’t it?

  Of course it didn’t. But then, very few grown-people have ever made sense of a young person’s mind, and I’ve no great ambitions to count myself among the pioneers. In any case, Alice was now more fascinated by Furthermore than ever before and she wanted to know everything about life in this strange land. Oliver, however, was reluctant to share.

  “But where did you live?” she asked him, half jogging in an effort to match his pace. “Was it nice? Did your mother come to visit?”

  Oliver laughed in this strange, incredulous way that twitched his face and pinched his nose. “My mother?” he said. “Come to visit? Alice, be serious.”

  “But didn’t she miss you?”

  Oliver raised an eyebrow at her. “I doubt it. Besides, would you want your mother to visit while you were on a task?”

  Alice blushed. “Well, seeing as I’ll never have a task, my answer couldn’t really matter, could it?”

  Oliver stopped, bit the inside of his cheek, and was generous enough to look ashamed of himself. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I forgot.”

  “Yes. I nearly had, too.”

  “Do you still have your card?”

  Alice nodded, her fingers reaching for the stiff piece of paper tucked inside her skirt pocket.

  “I still think you should unlock it,” he said.

  “Yes, well, I think we should find Father,” Alice said, and looked away.

  Oliver opened his mouth to speak, exhaled sharply, and said nothing more on the subject.

  It was Alice who finally broke the silence.

  “So what else do we need to get?”

  Oliver glanced at Alice’s bare feet and said, “Shoes.”

  “Shoes?” Alice hurried forward, startled, to catch up with Oliver, who’d already begun walking again. “But I never wear shoes.”

  “You’ll also need to get clearance before we can leave Slumber,” he said. “So we’ll need to get you a ruler, of course—as all visitors must carry rulers—and then we’ll need to get it filled, which—”

  But Alice had frozen still.

  Oliver was speaking, but Alice could no longer hear him, and it took him a moment to realize she was no longer following his lead. When he finally looked back, he found Alice planted in place, her eyes wide with wonder.

  “What is it?” Oliver whipped around in search of danger. He was trying not to worry, but Alice had a bad habit of worrying him. “What’s the matter?”

  “Why?” she said.

  “Why what?”

  “Why do I need a ruler?”

  “Because,” he said. “Despite the many inconsistencies, following rules is very important in Furthermore.”

  “But—”

  “Now, Alice,” Oliver said, frowning, “please don’t fight me on this. We might be able to compromise on the shoes, but the ruler is very important. A visitor in Furthermore must have a ruler at all times.”

  “But why?”

  “Well,” Oliver said, “because it measures our time spent here.” He reached into his bag and procured a simple wooden ruler that looked an awful lot like something Alice had seen before.

  She took it from him, inspecting it, and was swiftly reminded of Father’s ruler: It was the one thing he’d taken with him when he left home. Alice had not forgotten. How could she? Father always took great care of that ruler. He’d kept it wrapped in a thin rectangle of red velvet, tucked away in the top drawer of his dresser, and checked every night to make sure it was still there. The one time Alice had taken it, hoping to engage it in a bit of play, Father had told her very firmly that it wasn’t a toy.

  He’d said it was special.

  Alice had always wondered how a ruler could be special, but now, holding Oliver’s ruler in her hand, she was finally beginning to understand. As she remembered it, Father’s ruler was much the same as Oliver’s: dark and thin and marked along the edges the way a ruler might be. But the greatest difference between the two was also the strangest: Oliver’s ruler was much, much heavier than Father’s.

  “Mmm,” said Oliver, nodding. “Yes, it’s quite heavy when it�
��s full.”

  “Full of what?”

  “Time, of course. Time is the only thing in this land that’s actually regulated,” Oliver explained. “Furthermore is very, very persnickety about time. It’s mandatory to fill and measure the length of any visit because Furthermore likes to keep a close eye on all who pass through.”

  “Time,” Alice said softly, eyes still locked on the ruler in her hand. “How odd.”

  “Yes. They don’t like to waste time here. For years Furthermore let visitors take as much time as they wanted, but so much of it was spent on thinking and wondering and deciding that it’s now very strictly regulated.” And then, seeing the look on Alice’s face, he added, “Studies have shown that thinking and wondering lead to thoughtful decision-making. It’s an epidemic.”

  Alice’s mouth popped open in surprise. “You mean to say that Furthermore doesn’t want visitors to make thoughtful decisions?”

  “Of course they don’t,” Oliver said, tugging the ruler out of her hands. “Stupid people are much easier to eat.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “If you force visitors to make hasty, hurried decisions, they’re bound to make poor choices more quickly, which will more efficiently lead to their demise. But going slowly won’t do, either. They’ll make a nice stew out of you for wasting time. It’s a simple trap,” he said. “You lose either way. So we’ll have to settle for being quick and clever.”

  Alice relinquished the ruler, but reluctantly. Distractedly. She was done being shocked by Oliver’s explanations, but she was now lost in her own thoughts. “Did you know,” said Alice quietly, “that Father left Ferenwood with nothing but a ruler?”

  “I did.”

  “So he knew,” Alice said, confirming her own suspicions. “Before he left. Father knew where he was going.”

  “He must’ve known,” said Oliver. “He’d been here plenty of times before—he knew how it all worked. In fact, it was because of his notes and knowledge of Furthermore that I’d known what to do when I got here. I owe him a great debt.”

  This was too much for Alice to process.

  Why would Father come back to Furthermore after all these years? What did he want here?