The Sisters of Straygarden Place

by Hayley Chewins

  Something tickled in Mayhap’s throat. The coffee smell made her skin itch. She couldn’t help but feel that the erroneous card was some sort of garbled message. If only she could figure out what the message was. “I don’t understand,” she said. “I don’t understand anything.”

  “Now, that’s not true.” The kindness in Tutto’s eyes burned, making Mayhap want to cry. “There are plenty of things you understand. Now, we need to find a book that can help Winnow. Does that sound like a good idea to you?”

  Mayhap gave a single nod. “I — I am looking for books about the families that have previously lived at Straygarden Place. Please.”

  Tutto’s insides grumbled — again. One of this drawers was flung out — again. Another card pirouetted into the air, somersaulting to land in Mayhap’s palm. Tutto looked over her shoulder as Mayhap read the words aloud: “The Book of Records: Details Concerning the Residents and Ex-Residents of Straygarden Place.”

  “Ah, you see,” said Tutto. “This time you have received the correct card.”

  Seekatrix barked happily.

  Mayhap was relieved, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the previous card. She stared at the new card in her hand.

  “Aren’t you going to ask for it, then?” said Tutto.

  “Yes,” said Mayhap. “Yes, of course. Could I please take a look at” — she consulted the card, careful to get the words exactly right — “The Book of Records: Details Concerning the Residents and Ex-Residents of Straygarden Place.”

  Tutto and Mayhap both scanned the library’s shelves.

  Then Mayhap caught sight of a large book taking its time to wriggle out of a shelf, as though it had been jammed in too tightly. As soon as it freed itself, it flew through the air, descending toward her.

  Mayhap’s knees buckled when she caught it. Its cover was shiny — a deep scarlet with gilded lettering.

  “Might be best to put it down and flip through it carefully,” said Tutto.

  Mayhap carried the thick book over to one of the reading tables. Tutto squeaked on his wheels behind her, and Seekatrix scratched at her leg when she sat down, wanting attention. “Shhh,” she told him, patting his head.

  The pages were as thin as sheaves of voile. Each one was divided into columns: Name, Lost Quality, Date of Arrival, Date of Departure, and Notes.

  Mayhap read out the words in the Lost Quality column, struggling to pronounce them because the smell of coffee had lodged itself deep in her lungs. “Language. All sweet smells. Silence. Mornings. Harmonious music. Decision-making.”

  Tutto read over her shoulder: “Hellos and goodbyes. Good tastes. Imagining. Color.”

  “Good tastes,” repeated Mayhap. The name of the man who had lost good tastes was Algernonian Greft, and under the notes section there was one word: Deceased. Mayhap twitched. This was the man the Mysteriessa had told her about.

  “Go to the end of it,” said Mayhap. Her blood had turned to coffee, and it was pumping through her. She was drowning in the smell of it.

  Tutto flipped to the back of the book with his nose to read the last entry. “Ballastian, Cygnet and Bellwether. Daughters: Winnow, Mayhap, and Pavonine.” His gaze lingered on the column labeled Lost Quality. “Sleep,” he read.

  “There’s a note next to it,” said Mayhap. “Residents given droomhunds to cope. It’s just what she said.”

  “Just what who said?” asked Tutto.

  “Oh, no one.”

  She scanned a few more pages. As far as she could see, no other family was given anything in order to cope.

  Tutto used his snout to page through the book quickly. “This is fascinating! Mayhap, hundreds of families lived here before you and your sisters. The durations of their stays were short. Look — this one is three weeks. And this one is two days.” He paused, looking at her thoughtfully. “If you’d had to give up sleep altogether, you probably also would have left after a few days. But your family has been here ten years. Because of the droomhunds.” Both Tutto and Mayhap angled to look at Seekatrix, who had been sitting beside Mayhap’s chair quietly. “No wonder,” he snorted, “those other families didn’t do much writing about the grass — or anything else.”

  Mayhap had to tell Pavonine about this. She had to tell her about the Mysteriessa.

  Winnow’s sickness was like a puzzle she couldn’t complete, but she felt sure that if she and Pavonine put their heads together, they could solve it.

  “Can I show this book to Pavonine?” she asked Tutto.

  The hippopotamus’s eyes brightened. “Certainly you can,” he said, “if you bring her here.”

  “But — can’t I take —”

  “This is a reference book, Mayhap,” said Tutto. “You are not permitted to remove it from the library. That’s why we have so many cozy chairs here.”

  “Of course,” said Mayhap. She should have remembered that. “I’ll bring Pavonine here instead.”

  But of course was right — of course she couldn’t do that.

  They could not leave Winnow alone, and they could not risk triggering another one of her episodes by trying to move her.

  “I’m afraid it’s coffee time,” said Tutto. He began to wheel away.

  “Tutto,” said Mayhap. “Couldn’t you make an exception? Just for this one book?”

  Tutto frowned. He opened his mouth as though he were about to acquiesce, then shook his head rapidly. “No, no,” he said as though scolding himself. “It won’t work.”

  “What won’t work?” said Mayhap. “It’s your library. Surely you make the rules.”

  Tutto shook his head emphatically again. “No, Mayhap. The library belongs to the house. And the house has rules. And the rules will be followed.”

  Silence sat between them like a looming wall before Tutto spoke. “I’m going to get back to my coffee. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Coffee. Mayhap really needed to get out of the library. “No, of course not, Tutto,” she said. “Goodbye. Thank you for your help.”

  It was not easy stealing The Book of Records from the library.

  Getting it out of the room was simple enough, especially since Tutto was standing over one of the reading desks with his eyes closed, lapping steaming coffee out of a porcelain cup. But as Mayhap walked toward the bedroom she shared with her sisters, the tome grew heavier and heavier in her arms.

  When she eventually reached the landing at the top of the stairs, she was sweating and her arms were aching, and the book was so heavy that she had to push it along the floor while Seekatrix growled at it unhelpfully. After a while, she gave up and stood in the hallway and called Pavonine’s name. She couldn’t push the book any longer.

  By the time Pavonine appeared, Peffiandra prancing beside her, Mayhap was splayed out on the carpet. Her legs felt about as sturdy as chocolate mousse.

  “Did you find him?” asked Pavonine. She looked around for Evenflee. When she didn’t see him, she sighed with disappointment. Then she spotted the book. “What’s that?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “I went to the library,” said Mayhap. “I need to show you something.” She sat up, wheezing.

  Pavonine crossed her arms. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked. “Are you sick, too?” The fear in her eyes sparked like a faulty bulb.

  “No, I’m fine. It’s just that the book kept getting heavier,” said Mayhap.

  “Heavier?”

  “Try to lift it,” said Mayhap. She motioned to The Book of Records.

  Pavonine did. And couldn’t. “Mayhap, what is this?” she said.

  “I went to the library to look up books about the grass. There weren’t any, but I did find a record of all the families who have lived at Straygarden Place.” Mayhap struggled to push the heavy thing toward Pavonine. “Look,” she said.

  Pavonine sat on the carpet and opened the book. She stared at the pages. Then she stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Mayhap, I thought you were going to search for Evenflee.”

  “I know, Pav, but just —
”

  “What am I supposed to be seeing, exactly?”

  Mayhap scrambled toward the book. The pages had disappeared. In their place sat a hunk of solid white marble.

  “There were pages in it a few minutes ago,” she said desperately. “With words on them. Columns.” She ran her hand over the stone. It was smooth and cold.

  Pavonine squinched her face up. “May, you said you were going to look for Evenflee.”

  “Pav, there were words in here —”

  “So you’re saying the book turned to marble?” asked Pavonine.

  “I was trying to help, Pav. This is important. I know it is.” Mayhap gritted her teeth. “I don’t know how it turned to marble — or why — but it was a book before.”

  “I don’t think books are going to help us with this,” said Pavonine. “Or Tutto, or anyone. Even the house doesn’t know what to do.”

  “But the grass, Pav. It takes things from people. You can only stay here if you give something up. Some people gave up” — Mayhap put her hands to her temples — “what were they again? Good tastes. Solitude.”

  “Solitude? I don’t know what you’re talking about, May.”

  “Why do you think we can’t sleep?”

  “It’s a thing our family has, like brown eyes and dark hair.”

  “But what if I told you it wasn’t something we were born with? That the grass stole sleep from us?”

  “I would say that doesn’t sound like it has anything to do with Winnow being sick.”

  Pavonine sat down again, beside Mayhap. She put her hand on Mayhap’s hand. “We should focus on looking after Winn,” said Pavonine. “On finding Evenflee —”

  “She won’t let me near her, Pav,” said Mayhap. “And Evenflee is gone. I haven’t seen him anywhere. For all we know, the grass could have taken him.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  “But it could be true!”

  “We don’t know that. We don’t know that yet. We have to keep trying.”

  Mayhap pulled her hand away from Pavonine’s. “Maybe you like that she hates me. That you get to look after her. You get to have her all to yourself.”

  Pavonine looked hurt. She stood up and walked away. Distantly, a door clicked closed.

  Mayhap kicked the marble book. Her big toe stung. She rubbed her eyes and resisted the urge to scream into the carpet.

  “That’s what happens when you remove a reference book from the library,” said a voice. “It’s one of the house’s rules.”

  Mayhap had goosebumps all the way up her neck as she turned around to face the Mysteriessa.

  The girl looked smaller — or maybe Mayhap was only seeing her clearer. Her eyes were as white and waterless as pebbles.

  “I wasn’t going to tell her about you — I promise,” said Mayhap. “I only wanted her to know about the grass. About it taking things. I thought it might help —”

  “I’ve told you, Mayhap,” said the Mysteriessa, her voice edging toward impatience. “The only thing you can do is keep Winnow away from the grass and let her rest.”

  “Please,” said Mayhap. “Tell me something that will actually help. Tell me how to —”

  “I have already told you, Mayhap.”

  “No,” said Mayhap. “No.” She stood and moved toward the Mysteriessa. The girl stepped back, as though she were afraid. “Tell me your name,” said Mayhap. “At least tell me your actual name. How am I supposed to believe a word you’re saying?”

  “You’re to believe me, Mayhap, because I have lived here for all your life, for all my life, and for all the lives of those who have come and gone.” The Mysteriessa looked at the rectangle of marble that had once been The Book of Records. “Now, I’ll take that,” she said. She lifted it as though it were as light as a folded cardigan and began to walk away.

  Mayhap watched her get smaller and smaller.

  Down the hall, she could hear Winnow crying.

  She covered her ears. “Please,” she said. “Tell me what to do.” She didn’t know if she was talking to herself, to Seekatrix, or to the house. Her whispered words sounded like wind in her ears.

  She curled up on the mulberry carpet, and it grew thicker around her.

  Maybe she only needed to sleep darkly for a little while. Maybe she would feel better then. But she was too frightened — too upset.

  Seekatrix licked her face.

  “I love you, Seeka,” said Mayhap, holding him close.

  The droomhund wriggled, and Mayhap’s sleeve rustled. She sat up and undid the ribbon that tightened it around her wrist. Her parents’ note, in all its ripped shreds, fell out.

  Mayhap spread the pieces out on the carpet, arranging them so that she could read the note. It had always comforted her that the words on this piece of paper — now pieces of paper — had been inked by one of her parents’ hands. But she found it too painful to look at the words now. She flipped the torn pieces over.

  That’s when she noticed the other words.

  They were stamped on the back in pale-blue ink.

  All contractual disputes should be referred to the Office of Residents’ Concerns.

  She looked down the long hallway.

  The house was under no obligation to respond — but she could try.

  “Um,” she said, “could you please direct me to the, um, Office of Residents’ Concerns?”

  Mayhap sat in silence, Seekatrix blinking on her lap.

  And then the carpet began to move.

  The carpet, it seemed, knew the way to the Office of Residents’ Concerns.

  Mayhap sat, petrified, clutching Seekatrix, as it drew her along the hallway. It undulated and slid. It jostled and skidded. Her stomach flipped, and she closed her eyes, but not for too long — not so long that she would see that burning whiteness behind her eyelids that was every Ballastian’s curse.

  The carpet bore Mayhap to a door that was as black and shiny as Italian vinegar. It had a silver plaque on it. The plaque said: OFFICE OF RESIDENTS’ CONCERNS.

  The carpet bucked like a pony, nudging Mayhap to her feet, then once again became an unmoving softness beneath her slippers.

  Seekatrix wriggled to get free. She put him down, and he stood beside her, staring at the door.

  Mayhap prided herself on knowing every inch of Straygarden Place — every corner and crook, every window and whisper — and yet she had never seen this door. It didn’t look like any of the other doors in the house, either, which were all smoothly varnished mahogany.

  Seekatrix growled in a strange, scared way — the same way he had growled when he’d woken her up. Her heart blattered in her chest, but she took a deep breath and opened the door with a click.

  The Office of Residents’ Concerns was neatly ordered. It was a square room with wallpapered walls. A desk sat against the grass-swamped windows. Two armchairs had been placed in front of it. The armchairs were covered in haircloth as wiry as a droomhund’s eyelashes.

  Mayhap sat down in one of them, and Seekatrix jumped nimbly onto her lap.

  The desk, up until this point, had been clear. But when Mayhap sat down, a wad of papers appeared before her. The stack was tied with a black grosgrain ribbon. Mayhap sat forward, watching as the ribbon untied itself. She moved closer to try to read the words on the uppermost sheet of paper — but there were none. It was blank as a cloud.

  Mayhap took the pages in her hands and flipped through them. On the last page, her parents’ names were printed. Their signatures hung above the letters like squashed insects.

  “Mamma and Pappa,” said Mayhap to Seekatrix. “They signed this. But all the other pages are blank.”

  The desk quavered on its feet as though in disagreement. The pages sifted out of her hands.

  “Wait,” said Mayhap. She tried to grasp them, but the edges nicked her skin, and she let go, rubbing at the paper cuts they left behind.

  She watched as the pages moved apart, spreading out on the desk, turning to images. Moving images — pale colo
rs with swabs of black and gray and silver.

  She watched as her parents, Cygnet and Bellwether Ballastian, arrived at a gate — an enormous wrought iron gate with the words STRAYGARDEN PLACE worked into it. She watched as her mother soothed the baby in her arms — Pavonine, it must have been Pavonine — and as two small girls played on the path behind her.

  That’s me, Mayhap thought. And Winnow.

  Her mother’s face lit up like a lamp when she caught a glimpse of the floating wanderroot trees through the silver grass. “Look, Bell,” she said. “There they are.”

  Bellwether gasped at the bats dancing over their heads.

  Her parents seemed to be waiting for something. They shuffled their feet on the cobbles.

  Pavonine was sleeping peacefully in her mother’s arms — her face a pink rose — and the silver grass, tall as the sky, swayed beyond the iron spires of the gate. Her mother could’ve touched the grass with her fingertips if she’d reached through the gate. But she didn’t.

  Mayhap wanted to say Don’t go inside; don’t do it.

  But she couldn’t speak to her parents, or to her sisters, or to her past self. She could only observe.

  They all looked strange without their droomhunds at their sides, as though they were missing their shadows.

  And then something was moving through the grass. Something was coming toward them. Someone. A girl.

  The Mysteriessa.

  Seekatrix cried on Mayhap’s lap as she leaned closer to the desk, wanting to see everything — every detail.

  The Mysteriessa, walking up to the gate, her dress like metallic rain, her eyes as white as fresh snow.

  “What brings you to Straygarden Place?” she asked Mayhap’s parents.

  It was Mayhap’s mother who spoke. “My name is Cygnet Ballastian,” she said, “and this is my husband, Bellwether. And our daughters: Winnow, Mayhap, and Pavonine.”

  “Tell me why you are here,” said the Mysteriessa.

  “I’m a botanist,” said Cygnet. She peered through the iron gate at the silver grass. “I’ve heard about the incredible plant life you have here. I don’t think there’s anything like it in the world.” She straightened, bouncing a fussing Pavonine in her arms, and then handed the baby to Bellwether, who took her and tapped her nose with the tip of his finger. “I want to study the grass — and the trees,” said Cygnet, turning back toward the Mysteriessa.